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Maria Metlitskaya
Women's Day

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Search for similarities with real characters absolutely absurd. All characters are invented by the author. No prototypes! And the rest is the reader's imagination.

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

Zhenya shuddered and opened her eyes.

“Yes, somehow not very well,” she agreed sadly.

– With sleep or – in general? – the curious make-up artist grinned.

Zhenya grinned too.

– Why “in general”? “In general” everything is great!

“You can’t wait,” she thought, “no big deal with butter!” We know such people. Sympathizers. We give you soul, and you give us gossip. Then you carry it along the corridors of Ostankino - everything is bad with Ippolitova. Pale, sad, in short - nothing. There are no other problems in the family. Yeah, good luck!”

The make-up artist was middle-aged, apparently experienced in matters of the heart and clearly accustomed to intimate conversations.

- Eyes? – she asked in a half-whisper, intimately. – Are we going to ENLARGE the eyes?

My wife found it funny to enlarge her eyes! She sighed imperceptibly - nothing before enlarge there was no need. The eyes were wow. The sponges are also quite, quite. The nose didn't disappoint either. The hair is average, but not the worst... yes. But the persistent truth is that the eyes now clearly needed enlargement. And my mouth could use some freshening up. And everything else... refresh, tune, enlarge. Everything except the butt and some parts of the back.

The make-up artist tried - sticking out the tip of her tongue, powdering, painting, reducing and enlarging.

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 for broadcast. Well, during the breaks we’ll fix it, get wet and dry - well, everything is as usual!

Zhenya stood up from the makeup chair and smiled, pleased with the result.

- Thank you! Thanks a lot. You really are 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 here already,” she thought, remembering, “yes, it’s almost twelve here.” The monkey would learn.

A young curly-haired girl looked in the door.

- Tamar Ivann! Olshanskaya has arrived.

Tamara Ivanovna clasped her hands.

- Oh my God! Well, it will start in a minute!

Zhenya sat down on the two-seater sofa and picked up an old and battered magazine, apparently intended for the entertainment of the waiting guests.

The make-up artist began – unnecessarily hastily – to tidy up the make-up 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 one with curly hair. They were babbling incoherently and were very excited.

Whirlwind threw off his bright red leather cloak and plopped down heavily in a chair.

Olshanskaya was good. Zhenya had only seen her on TV and now, forgetting about decency, looked at her hungrily.

Red, short-cropped, boy-like hair. Very white skin, characteristic only of red-haired people, light hemp on a charming, beautifully upturned nose. Very large and very bright, no lipstick at all, a lively and moving mouth. And the eyes are huge, dark blue, such a rare color that is almost never found in tired nature.

“Cool!” – Zhenya thought with delight, always noticing female beauty with pleasure.

Olshanskaya looked around the dressing room and stared at the elderly makeup artist.

- Well, thank God, you, Tom! – she breathed out 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 guys are going to fucking screw it up.

The girls shuddered and slammed even deeper into the wall.

The make-up artist Tamara Ivanovna parted her lips into the sweetest smile, spread her arms for a hug and walked towards Olshanskaya.

But she walked up to the chair and froze - Olshanskaya was not going to throw herself into a hug.

- Maybe coffee? – the curly-haired girl wheezed.

- Yeah, of course! – Olshanskaya grimaced. - Now pour me a stinking instant drink from the cooler and call it coffee!

- I'll cook! – Tamara Ivanovna was alarmed. - I’ll cook it in a Turkish pot, 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 sluggishly.

Zhenya again buried her face in the magazine - she completely lost the desire to look at the star.

“That’s it,” she thought, “a star, a beauty, couldn’t be more successful. And such... But what kind? Well, I showed off a little, which doesn’t happen to anyone! A star is not a pound of raisins.” But still. It felt somehow uncomfortable or something... It’s not that she was afraid of this Olshanskaya - no, it was nonsense, of course. I just thought: this thing will kill everyone. He will “star” and revel in himself, his beloved. And we... We will remain on the margins, of course. Under the bench. The actress will outplay everyone, of course.

Well, okay. Just think!

But immediately I slightly regretted... That I signed up for all THIS. In vain. It was not necessary.

As I felt, it’s not necessary.

She quietly walked out the door - there is little pleasure in watching a capricious star.

She 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 waste of time and effort. And there wasn’t much interest – if only at the very beginning.

A short and very pretty woman was walking quickly along the corridor towards her, with small steps. She looked at the signs on the doors - squinting slightly myopically. Running behind her was what was called the guest editor.

Strekalova - Zhenya recognized her. Veronica Yurievna Strekalova. Gynecologist. Very famous doctor. The director of the institute is not only a director, but also practically a creator. Professor, member of various international associations. Smart, 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.

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

A curly-haired woman emerged from behind the door and, seeing the professor, rejoiced at her as if she were her own mother.

“Sorry,” Strekalova babbled, “for being late.” Such traffic jams! 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 grinned: well, this one is a cleaner sheep than me! Rejoice, Olshanskaya! Today you definitely have no competitors. And the program can safely be renamed - not “Three fellow tribesmen whom we admire,” but a benefit performance by Alexandra Olshanskaya.

Zhenya sighed and looked at her watch - she still had about twenty minutes left. You can safely go down to the first floor to a cafe and drink coffee. For our own, for our blood. Without choking on free, soluble liquor and without begging for “brewed in a Turkish drink.”

However, she did not beg. But no one thought to offer it to her - it’s not a big 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 people, all media people – news anchors, talk shows, actors, directors.

A woman in a red dress waved at her from behind the table. Zhenya recognized Marina Tobolchina, the host of the program that she, Zhenya, was supposed to go to in fifteen minutes.

Tobolchina 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. Every two years she only slightly changed the format - probably so as not to bore the viewer. And she had to admit, she succeeded very well.

Some considered Tobolchina’s programs opportunistic, others considered them similar to each other. Some reproached her for being tough, others for lack of sincerity.

But! Many people watched. The programs were not boring and dynamic. And Tobolchina’s questions were not hackneyed, not primitive. And one more thing - she was excellent at knocking tears out of her interlocutor, drawing out something deeply hidden, almost secret. Professional, what can I say. Her voice gurgled softly, unobtrusively, like a stream. Lulled, calmed, relaxed. And then - oops! A sharp question. And the interlocutor was confused, shuddered, almost jumped in her chair. And there’s nowhere to go! Tobolchina prepared for the programs carefully. Looking for skeletons in the closet - nothing like anything special... But in the eye, not in the eyebrow!

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

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

Actually, receiving an invitation from Tobolchina was considered cool, very cool. Of course, she was a recognized shark of the pen - if that can be said about a TV personality.

Tobolchina looked at her watch, stood up cheerfully and headed towards Zhenya. She walked up to her table, smiled charmingly and leaned over.

– Are you ready, Evgenia Vladimirovna? – she asked softly.

Zhenya squeezed out a smile and nodded too.

- Yes, Marina. Of course I'm ready.

– Were you wearing makeup? – she inquired.

Zhenya nodded.

- Of course.

“Then let’s get to work!” - Tobolchina smiled again and nodded: - Shall we go?

Zhenya stood up, sighed and reluctantly trudged behind.

My heart was uneasy.

"Coward! – she reproached herself. – She remained a coward, just like she was. Don't drift, Ippolitova! 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, honey. We forgot about childhood fears, teenage phobias and menopausal upheavals. Go ahead and sing! About hard, but almost happy women's share. You're a professional at this, Zhenechka. Where is Tobolchina!”

In the studio, Olshanskaya and Strekalova were already sitting at a white oval table. 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 those sitting a Hollywood smile and sank into her seat. Zhenya sat down on an empty chair.

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

- Well, dear ladies, shall we begin by praying?

Olshanskaya chuckled and looked at her watch, Veronica turned pale and nodded cautiously, and Zhenya, sighing, smiled weakly and spread her hands helplessly.

“I wish all this would end soon, Lord! Why am I so worried?

Tobolchina, as if hearing her thoughts, said in a chiseled voice:

- Don't worry, don't freak out! Let's not twitch. Let's breathe freely and full breasts. You are all people with experience and are 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 Tobolchin smiled broadly and friendly.

- Motor! – the director said on the radio, Tobolchina’s eyes lit up predatorily, and she leaned forward a little.

- My dears! - she began. - We are together again. I was also really looking forward to our meeting. I missed you too! And today, on the eve of the main women's holiday, we decided to give you a wonderful gift. “She paused for a minute and smiled broadly again: “So, I present to you my guests today.” Although they don't need any introduction. But the rules are the rules. Please love and favor - Alexandra Olshanskaya! Star of Russian 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, slightly raising her eyebrow, nodded with royal dignity.

“My next guest,” Tobolchina smiled charmingly again, “Veronica Strekalova.” Professor, head of the department, author of many works and monographs, and finally, director of the institute, which I would call the Institute of Hope. Member, by the way, Public Chamber, wife and mother. And besides, she’s also a beauty!

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

– And – my third guest! – Tobolchina smiled mysteriously and paused. “My third guest,” she repeated, “Evgenia Ippolitova!” Our favorite writer. A woman who knows about female soul everything and even more than everything. Whose books make us cry, laugh and admire? She gives us happy moments of experience and hope. Evgenia Ippolitova!

Zhenya tried to smile and nodded her head.

The smile turned out to be forced, and the nod was too obvious, she thought. Anyway. No one will notice.

“So,” Tobolchina continued, “why did I invite these particular people?” beautiful women? I think the answer is clear - they all give us joy, many pleasant moments and hope. I hope that everything will be fixed. In love, in marriage and, of course, in health. They promise us that everything will get better. And further. - They are all of the same generation. They have different destinies and different paths to success. But they are all wives and mothers. They are all wonderful and successful. And they are fully worthy of being 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, Tobolchina’s “trick”, which she repeated several times.

- Alexandra! – she turned to Olshanskaya. – You, as always, are young and beautiful. More precisely, every year it becomes more beautiful and younger. Please tell me how you manage to do this? Well, share your secret. With us, women who adore you!

- And I don’t envy anyone! – the actress said sharply, almost defiantly. – Neither more successful, nor younger. Envious aunts have a toad grimace imprinted on their faces - take a closer look. And see for yourself.

- Oh? - Tobolchin smiled slyly - Is it just the absence of envy? And completely without the intervention of plastic surgeons? Oh, how tired I am of all this naive nonsense that no one believes in for a long time - don’t be jealous, get a good night’s sleep, cucumber and kefir on your face and other nonsense...

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

“Marina, dear,” Olshanskaya sang drawlingly, “why do I need secrets?” Everyone knows how old I am. Everyone knows for the umpteenth time I'm married. And as for tuning, now they are simply proud of it.

Tobolchina leaned back a little 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 already a diagnosis. Such durability and such safety! And besides, why should you be jealous? To you, Alexandra? Beautiful children, wonderful husband... Not to mention your career!

Olshanskaya nodded graciously, saying it was all true.

– Born, yes, in Siberia. My father served there. But my parents are from St. Petersburg. And that’s where I actually grew up.

Tobolchina turned her gaze to Veronica.

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

The professor shuddered and nodded obediently.

– You are an amazing, extraordinary, and simply brilliant woman. Your technologies are know-how in science. You manage to do everything: teach, run an institute, and even deliver a difficult birth. Besides you loving wife and mother of a beautiful son. How can you combine all this? Some people fail to achieve success even in one of the listed points.

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

- Well, what are you talking about! What does extraordinary have to do with it? It's all knowledge and a good education. “I just loved to study,” she chirped very quietly.

Tobolchina laughed demonically and waved her hand.

- Come on, Veronica Yurievna! Many people “loved to learn.” And where are they, what came out of them? No, I don't think that's the point. And what? – and Tobolchina narrowed her beautiful green eyes.

“But I really don’t know,” the interlocutor squeaked in confusion, “it’s somehow awkward to talk to myself... like that!”

- What kind of “is that”? – the presenter was surprised. – We are telling the truth! This is why they love and watch us. Our viewers are interested in knowing the truth about their contemporaries. Beautiful, successful, worthy! Because if someone could do it, then so can I, do you understand me?

Tobolchina almost leaned over the table and stared straight at Strekalova.

- God! “I really don’t know,” Veronica almost cried, “believe me, there’s nothing mysterious!” I studied and graduated at the age of twenty-six. Ph.D. At thirty-six - doctorate. The topic was noticed, associates and like-minded people appeared. I was just very lucky good people, Truth! A couple of articles have been published in scientific journals. The minister became interested and supported us - thank him very much. Well, and then... It started rolling.

She fell silent and took a sip of water from her glass.

“Exactly,” Tobolchina picked up, “now everything is clear!” You have studied. With interest, with zeal. And at the same time – that’s where the catch is! - We managed to get married and give birth to a child. And what - all by ourselves, alone? Just you and your husband? Sorry, but somehow I can’t believe it.

Finally, Strekalova turned a little pink and cheered up.

- Oh, is this what you mean? Of course not! Of course, not ourselves. And not alone. You know,” here she smiled and spoke a little louder, “I have a wonderful mother-in-law. Just a miracle, not a mother-in-law! Yes, if it weren’t for her... There would be no Professor Strekalova, my career and my son, and indeed everything that I can be proud of.

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

“Vera Matveevna,” Strekalova again for some reason sank.

“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 it weren’t for you and your help, we wouldn’t have such a doctor and wouldn’t have hope and faith that everything can be fixed and everything will be fine. Because we believe your daughter-in-law. We believe and trust!

“Well, now - to you,” Tobolchina grinned, turning her gaze to Zhenya. - To you, our dear sorceress! Our dreamer, our storyteller. Taking us to the world of wonderful dreams. To the world of beauty and strong men, into the world of tender 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 - at 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 happen? dear Evgeniya? What preceded this, where did it come from? How did the edges of your talent suddenly begin to sparkle?

Zhenya spread her hands in embarrassment.

– Honestly, I don’t know myself. Just... just one day, suddenly... I wanted to write. I got sick then. She lay there for a long time, a month and a half. And I absolutely didn’t know what to do with myself. And so I tried it. And suddenly – it worked! To tell the truth, I didn’t expect it myself.

“Well... It’s somehow... It’s not convincing, or something...” Tobolchina drawled thoughtfully. - Here I am, for example. I was sick so much, but it didn’t even occur to me to take a piece of paper and a pen. And if I had to, I don’t think anyone would be interested in it!

“Everyone has their own destiny,” Zhenya smiled. – A banal sciatica helped me. It turns out that this happens.

- What about everyday life? – Tobolchina continued to insist. – A writer is a creative profession. Requiring silence and solitude. Concentration. And here are pots, ladles, unironed linen. And what to do with all this? With what eats our woman's life? After all, you work from home, right?

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

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

- Yes, I adapted somehow. She sent the children to study, accompanied her husband to work. And she flew away into her fantasies - probably like that.

- Well, what about lunch and dinner? Cleaning, still the same laundry? – For some reason, Tobolchin continued to press her point with displeasure.

“Yes, in the meantime,” Zhenya answered, “it’s not a problem to cook soup.” Peel the potatoes – even more so. And you can pet it in the evening, while watching TV.

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

Zhenya laughed.

- Well, where are you going? Having become a writer, I did not stop being a mother and wife. And then – I’m fast. Fast, I mean. And life is not a burden to me, believe me.

- Marvelous! – Tobolchina sang across the warehouses and spread her arms. - And what does this mean? Right. This shows what amazing, amazing, extraordinary women we have! And now,” here she became sad, “I will disappoint you.” Advertising, my dears. And I will have time to get bored!

This is also one of her “tricks” - “I’ll have time to get bored.” A sad look, a feigned sigh. I was kind of upset.

The music started playing and everyone relaxed a little. The make-up artists flew up and began to blot their faces with napkins and powder their noses and chins with a brush. Tobolchina didn’t look at anyone, frowned and read her eyeliner again. Olshanskaya imposingly leaned back in her chair and asked for hot tea. Strekalova tried to call someone. Zhenya got up and walked around the studio - her sore back was aching and she needed a little warm-up.

Tobolchina raised her head in displeasure.

“It’s kind of sluggish,” the director said dissatisfiedly, “let’s be more lively, or something.” Otherwise we are already asleep.

- Pleasant dreams! – Tobolchina hissed angrily. - You'll wake up now. It will make you feel better...

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

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 tall tales about your respected spouse.

Olshanskaya raised her unique blue eyes, like mountain lakes, to the presenter, and Zhenya saw how her gaze froze in pain, immediately giving way to indignation and rage.

– Which ones exactly? – she asked harshly. – The tabloid press writes a lot of all sorts of vile things – including about you, right?

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

But her eyes narrowed slightly with anger.

– And yet... Not because we trust it, this press - of course not. But the fact remains a fact. And, as they say, you can’t argue against him. Your husband once said that 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. What a nightmare! And now - it’s so strange - he himself is looking for a way into politics, where, as he said, “ honest people does not happen and cannot be.” This quote.

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

Olshanskaya sighed, smiled charmingly and calmly began to answer:

– What, exactly, surprises you so much? How business was built in those years has long been known to everyone. There was no other way. Impossible! And I think every businessman can tell you such horror stories, and even worse! And now everyone strives for civility. They want to respect the laws. And to fix something – within our power – in our not-so-just world. Is this 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 restore order. I answered your question? – And she fixed her eyes on the presenter.

“Yes,” Tobolchina responded sluggishly, “everything is clear now.”

- Stop! – the director’s roar was heard. - What's the matter, Marina? Why are you bored?

Tobolchina twitched her eyebrow and straightened her back slightly.

- And one more thing, dear! Aren't you afraid to let your husband go for so long? After all, as I know, he spends almost all his time in another city! Rich man, successful man, handsome man. Maybe you have a secret? How to remain desirable to your husband? How to make him think only about you and miss you? There are a lot of temptations. And young beauties - even more so. And you, it seems to me, are probably a jealous person. Well, it’s obvious!

And then Olshanskaya’s wild cry was heard:

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

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

- Began! – she hissed.

– What the hell? – Olshanskaya continued to shout. “What the fuck am I asking you?” – she shouted in the face of a thin guy with glasses and bright pink sneakers.

-What bothered you so much? – the director asked. – In my opinion, 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 began to calm her down. 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 briskly left the studio.

A nervous bustle and whispering began.

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

- Maybe... we can go too?

Veronica shuddered and looked helplessly at Zhenya.

- You think? – she asked quietly.

Zhenya shrugged. Strekalova sighed heavily and said:

- I think... you're right. We need to wash off.

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

- What, girls? Are we writing? – she inquired joyfully.

The “girls” shuddered in fear and looked at each other.

“An actress,” Tobolchina spread her hands, “an emotional, hot-tempered, hot-tempered person... It happens!” – she sighed.

- Well, you and I... Let's continue!

– Evgenia Vladimirovna, your fate is a complete mystery. Until you were forty, you were a completely ordinary woman, you went to work, cooked dinner. Raised children. And suddenly! Suddenly you started writing. And two years later 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? Insight? Grace of the gods, so to speak? Or some serious events, some milestone, a Rubicon, after which this miracle happened? Tell us the secret! The secret of my favorite writer...

- No secrets, I assure you! Maybe I will greatly disappoint you, but believe me, there are no secrets! It’s very simple – troubles started at work, and I left. It was the beginning of summer, and look new job I didn’t want to right away. I decided that I would take the summer off and start searching in the fall. And here is the dacha. On Sunday everyone leaves - children, husband. I'm alone. Things to do? A garden? Right! And then I got sciatica - well, what kind of gardener am I? That's when it happened - I opened my laptop and tried something. For a long time I hesitated to send the manuscript. In August I finally decided. I emailed it to a couple of publishing houses. And I didn’t immediately believe it when I received an answer five months later. Nobody believed it - neither the children, nor the husband. And most of all – myself. I didn’t believe it even when I signed the contract. I didn’t believe it when I received my first money. Quite small, but that's understandable. I believed it only when I first picked up the book. That's when my breath caught. My name is on the cover and my photograph is on the back. It was such a shock and such a miracle that I put the book on the pillow and stroked and leafed through it all night. That’s all, actually,” Zhenya smiled.

– You said that everyone left on Sunday? – Tobolchina suddenly clarified. - Do you mean to go to work?

Zhenya was surprised.

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

“Yeah,” Tobolchina said thoughtfully, “but…” 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 distant. Is not it?

Zhenya felt the blood rush to her face. It became difficult to breathe, almost impossible. It became unbearably quiet. My hands grew cold, and my legs became weak and heavy.

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

“From the scrip and from prison, as they say...” Tobolchina sighed sickly and sympathetically and smiled again, “ folk proverb. And God bless all 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 this bitch's face and loudly slamming the door. She sat on the chair as if glued. I didn't have the strength to get up. There was no strength to answer. I just didn’t have the strength to do anything...

“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. But the other one... I mean, the older one. They are completely different, your girls. I looked at their photos for a long time - and they really are completely different! The youngest one looks like you. But the eldest, Maria, it seems, is not like 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 has everything settled down now? Did it improve over time?

- Lord, what nonsense! – Zhenya stammered. – What utter and terrible nonsense! Where did you get such crazy information?

“From your interview,” Tobolchina clarified with pleasure.

“Nonsense,” Zhenya repeated, “my daughters are fine.” They are close people, friends. And mine eldest daughter, Marusya, she has long... matured. I’m surprised, where did you…dug this up? Maybe I'm not the best best mother and I have a lot of mistakes in raising my daughters, but... I did the most important thing in my life right!

- Error? – Tobolchina seemed delighted. - Well, thank God! – she breathed out 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! - asked Tobolchina. – To be a wife, mother and, on top of that, a writer – wow! Don't be modest, dear Evgenia!

Maria Metlitskaya's books 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, to build a strong and happy family, raise children and self-realization. No matter how successful a woman is, she needs all this, and the writer shows this well. And it also reminds us that life is never too good or too bad, don’t forget about it.

Three well-known women in society, shortly before March 8, were invited to the TV show studio. This talented actress Alexandra, good doctor Veronica and writer Evgenia. Each of them has given interviews more than once, talking about how they achieved success, got married, and how well everything turned out. This time too, they are sure that everything will be the same. However, the host of this show is known for the fact that she likes to ask tricky questions, forcing you to dig deep into your soul. This is where the ugly truth comes to light, which the women themselves had forgotten, having already become confused as to which of what they were telling was true and which was 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 the book online or buy the book in the online store.

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

Zhenya shuddered and opened her eyes.

Yes, somehow not very well,” she agreed sadly.

With sleep or - in general? - the curious make-up artist grinned.

Zhenya grinned too.

Why “at all”? “In general” everything is great!

“You can’t wait,” she thought, “no big deal with butter!” We know such people. Sympathizers. We give you our soul, and you give us gossip. Then you carry it along the corridors of Ostankino - everything is bad with Ippolitova. Pale, sad, in short - nothing. There are no other problems in the family. Yeah, good luck!”

The make-up artist was middle-aged, apparently experienced in matters of the heart and clearly accustomed to intimate conversations.

Eyes? - she asked in a half-whisper, intimately. - Are we going to ENLARGE the eyes?

My wife found it funny to enlarge her eyes! She sighed imperceptibly - there was no need to enlarge anything before. The eyes were wow. The sponges are also quite, quite. The nose didn't disappoint either. The hair is average, but not the worst... yes. But the stubborn one is right - the eyes now clearly needed enlargement. And my mouth could use some freshening up. And everything else... refresh, tune, enlarge. Everything except the butt and some parts of the back.

The make-up artist tried - sticking out the tip of her tongue, powdering, painting, reducing and enlarging.

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 for broadcast. Well, during the breaks we’ll fix it, get wet and dry - well, everything is as usual!

Zhenya stood up from the makeup chair and smiled, pleased with the result.

Thank you! Thanks a lot. You really are 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 here already,” she thought, remembering, “yes, it’s almost twelve here.” The monkey would learn.

A young curly-haired girl looked in the door.

Tamar Ivann! Olshanskaya has arrived.

Tamara Ivanovna clasped her hands.

Lord! Well, it will start in a minute!

Zhenya sat down on the two-seater sofa and picked up an old and battered magazine, apparently intended for the entertainment of the waiting guests.

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

Whirlwind threw off his bright red leather cloak and plopped down heavily in a chair.

Olshanskaya was good. Zhenya had only seen her on TV and now, forgetting about decency, looked at her hungrily.

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

Maria Metlitskaya

Women's Day

The search for similarities with real characters is absolutely absurd. All characters are invented by the author. No prototypes! And the rest is the reader's imagination.

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

Zhenya shuddered and opened her eyes.

“Yes, somehow not very well,” she agreed sadly.

– With sleep or – in general? – the curious make-up artist grinned.

Zhenya grinned too.

– Why “in general”? “In general” everything is great!

The make-up artist was middle-aged, apparently experienced in matters of the heart and clearly accustomed to intimate conversations.

- Eyes? – she asked in a half-whisper, intimately. – Are we going to ENLARGE the eyes?

The make-up artist tried - sticking out the tip of her tongue, powdering, painting, reducing and enlarging.

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 for broadcast. Well, during the breaks we’ll fix it, get wet and dry - well, everything is as usual!

Zhenya stood up from the makeup chair and smiled, pleased with the result.

- Thank you! Thanks a lot. You really are 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 here already,” she thought, remembering, “yes, it’s almost twelve here.” The monkey would learn.

A young curly-haired girl looked in the door.

- Tamar Ivann! Olshanskaya has arrived.

Tamara Ivanovna clasped her hands.

- Oh my God! Well, it will start in a minute!

Zhenya sat down on the two-seater sofa and picked up an old and battered magazine, apparently intended for the entertainment of the waiting guests.

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

Whirlwind threw off his bright red leather cloak and plopped down heavily in a chair.

Olshanskaya was good. Zhenya had only seen her on TV and now, forgetting about decency, looked at her hungrily.

“Cool!” – Zhenya thought with delight, always noticing female beauty with pleasure.

Olshanskaya looked around the dressing room and stared at the elderly makeup artist.

The girls shuddered and slammed even deeper into the wall.

The make-up artist Tamara Ivanovna parted her lips into the sweetest smile, spread her arms for a hug and walked towards Olshanskaya.

But she walked up to the chair and froze - Olshanskaya was not going to throw herself into a hug.

- Maybe coffee? – the curly-haired girl wheezed.

- Yeah, of course! – Olshanskaya grimaced. - Now pour me a stinking instant drink from the cooler and call it coffee!

- I'll cook! – Tamara Ivanovna was alarmed. - I’ll cook it in a Turkish pot, 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 sluggishly.

Zhenya again buried her face in the magazine - she completely lost the desire to look at the star.

* * *

The search for similarities with real characters is absolutely absurd. All characters are invented by the author. No prototypes! And the rest is the reader's imagination.

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

Zhenya shuddered and opened her eyes.

“Yes, somehow not very well,” she agreed sadly.

– With sleep or – in general? – the curious make-up artist grinned.

Zhenya grinned too.

– Why “in general”? “In general” everything is great!

The make-up artist was middle-aged, apparently experienced in matters of the heart and clearly accustomed to intimate conversations.

- Eyes? – she asked in a half-whisper, intimately. – Are we going to ENLARGE the eyes?

The make-up artist tried - sticking out the tip of her tongue, powdering, painting, reducing and enlarging.

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 for broadcast. Well, during the breaks we’ll fix it, get wet and dry - well, everything is as usual!

Zhenya stood up from the makeup chair and smiled, pleased with the result.

- Thank you! Thanks a lot. You really are 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 here already,” she thought, remembering, “yes, it’s almost twelve here.” The monkey would learn.

A young curly-haired girl looked in the door.

- Tamar Ivann! Olshanskaya has arrived.

Tamara Ivanovna clasped her hands.

- Oh my God! Well, it will start in a minute!

Zhenya sat down on the two-seater sofa and picked up an old and battered magazine, apparently intended for the entertainment of the waiting guests.

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

Whirlwind threw off his bright red leather cloak and plopped down heavily in a chair.

Olshanskaya was good. Zhenya had only seen her on TV and now, forgetting about decency, looked at her hungrily.

“Cool!” – Zhenya thought with delight, always noticing female beauty with pleasure.

Olshanskaya looked around the dressing room and stared at the elderly makeup artist.

The girls shuddered and slammed even deeper into the wall.

The make-up artist Tamara Ivanovna parted her lips into the sweetest smile, spread her arms for a hug and walked towards Olshanskaya.

But she walked up to the chair and froze - Olshanskaya was not going to throw herself into a hug.

- Maybe coffee? – the curly-haired girl wheezed.

- Yeah, of course! – Olshanskaya grimaced. - Now pour me a stinking instant drink from the cooler and call it coffee!

- I'll cook! – Tamara Ivanovna was alarmed. - I’ll cook it in a Turkish pot, 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 sluggishly.

Zhenya again buried her face in the magazine - she completely lost the desire to look at the star.

Well, okay. Just think!

But immediately I slightly regretted... That I signed up for all THIS. In vain. It was not necessary.

As I felt, it’s not necessary.

She quietly walked out the door - there is little pleasure in watching a capricious star.

Strekalova - Zhenya recognized her. Veronica 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. Smart, 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.

A curly-haired woman emerged from behind the door and, seeing the professor, rejoiced at her as if she were her own mother.

“Sorry,” Strekalova babbled, “for being late.” Such traffic jams! 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. But no one thought to offer it to her - it’s not a big bird. Certainly not Olshanskaya. Wrong caliber!

A woman in a red dress waved at her from behind the table. Zhenya recognized Marina Tobolchina, the host of the program that she, Zhenya, was supposed to go to in fifteen minutes.

Some considered Tobolchina’s programs opportunistic, others considered them similar to each other. Some reproached her for being tough, others for lack of sincerity.

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

Actually, receiving an invitation from Tobolchina was considered cool, very cool. Of course, she was a recognized shark of the pen - if that can be said about a TV personality.

Tobolchina looked at her watch, stood up cheerfully and headed towards Zhenya. She walked up to her table, smiled charmingly and leaned over.

– Are you ready, Evgenia Vladimirovna? – she asked softly.

Zhenya squeezed out a smile and nodded too.

- Yes, Marina. Of course I'm ready.

– Were you wearing makeup? – she inquired.

Zhenya nodded.

- Of course.

“Then let’s get to work!” - Tobolchina smiled again and nodded: - Shall we go?

Zhenya stood up, sighed and reluctantly trudged behind.

My heart was uneasy.

So go ahead, honey. We forgot about childhood fears, teenage phobias and menopausal upheavals. Go ahead and sing! About a difficult, but almost happy woman's lot. You're a professional at this, Zhenechka. Where is Tobolchina!”

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

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

- Well, dear ladies, shall we begin by praying?

Olshanskaya chuckled and looked at her watch, Veronica turned pale and nodded cautiously, and Zhenya, sighing, smiled weakly and spread her hands helplessly.

“I wish all this would end soon, Lord! Why am I so worried?

Tobolchina, as if hearing her thoughts, said in a chiseled voice:

- Don't worry, don't freak out! Let's not twitch. We breathe freely and deeply. You are all people with experience and are 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 Tobolchin smiled broadly and friendly.

- Motor! – the director said on the radio, Tobolchina’s eyes lit up predatorily, and she leaned forward a little.

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

“My next guest,” Tobolchina smiled charmingly again, “Veronica Strekalova.” Professor, head of the department, author of many works and monographs, and finally, director of the institute, which I would call the Institute of Hope. Member, by the way, of the Public Chamber, wife and mother. And besides, she’s also a beauty!

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

– And – my third guest! – Tobolchina smiled mysteriously 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. Whose books make us cry, laugh and admire? She gives us happy moments of experience and hope. Evgenia Ippolitova!

Zhenya tried to smile and nodded her head.

The smile turned out to be forced, and the nod was too obvious, she thought. Anyway. No one will notice.

“So,” Tobolchina continued, “why did I invite these beautiful women?” I think the answer is clear - they all give us joy, many pleasant moments and hope. I hope that everything will be fixed. In love, in marriage and, of course, in health. They promise us that everything will get better. And further. - They are all of the same generation. They have different destinies and different paths to success. But they are all wives and mothers. They are all wonderful and successful. And they are fully worthy of being 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, Tobolchina’s “trick”, which she repeated several times.

Tobolchina leaned back a little 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 already a diagnosis. Such durability and such safety! And besides, why should you be jealous? To you, Alexandra? Beautiful children, wonderful husband... Not to mention your career!

Olshanskaya nodded graciously, saying it was all true.

– Born, yes, in Siberia. My father served there. But my parents are from St. Petersburg. And that’s where I actually grew up.

Tobolchina turned her gaze to Veronica.

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

The professor shuddered and nodded obediently.

– You are an amazing, extraordinary, and simply brilliant woman. Your technologies are know-how in science. You manage to do everything: teach, run an institute, and even deliver a difficult birth. In addition, you are a loving wife and mother of a wonderful son. How can you combine all this? Some people fail to achieve success even in one of the listed points.

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

- Well, what are you talking about! What does extraordinary have to do with it? It's all knowledge and good education. “I just loved to study,” she chirped very quietly.

Tobolchina laughed demonically and waved her hand.