Revenge – served cold - стр. 6
" That's right. You'll go back to Samara. I'll even take you a ticket.”
I was glad and sank down on a chair. I didn't expect Ramilya to understand and support me. I won't be able to look at him calmly tomorrow. I'm going to cry and let him put new noodles on my ears.
" The walls are closer to home in my own town. Well, don't worry about the job. I've always sensed in you a path of self-sacrifice… You'll go to school as an English teacher. It was offered.”
Ramila finished her speech and, frowning, sat down next to me. In my mind I knew she was right. I should have left back then… insisted on my own way… and maybe Dimitri and I would have gotten married and would be together now.
" Ir, don't be silly. Your Dimitri won't do anything to you. But it's good to get a proper employment record. Honestly, I didn't think you'd get a job at all.”
" Supported, " I grinned.
" What's the big deal? You went to see where your frustrated husband pretends to work. Maybe you'd run into him and spit in his face!”
I silently took an apple from the package and bit into it. Ramila knew where to hit and, as always, hit the target. I didn't have much money. Well, actually, I had some, just from a failed payment. But I had to work. I'm tired of running around with students. And worst of all, my parents… I never told them the truth. They think I've gone to my future husband and we're getting married soon. I've talked about it so much. But when they find out the truth… And then it'll be known to all the relatives. I've been told. Warned me.
" Ramil, borrow a dress, " I suddenly said. " That black, classic.”
" You can take the boat shoes too," my friend smiled triumphantly.
A woman's shriek kicked me out of the dream. I jerked upward, then downward as well, collapsing from the narrow bed to the floor, my elbows hitting the floor painfully.
" Are you crazy?!”
Ramila flew in and shook the rolling pin at me belligerently. I was impressed by the look on my friend's face: a stretched T-shirt, disheveled black hair, and a dazed look, and I hurried to deny it:
" It's not me!”
" And who? " Ramila didn't believe her.
" Ah-ah-ah! " I heard a confirmation of my honesty from the yard.
We leaned against the window and looked at a pudgy aunt, dressed in a chintz nightgown that looked like a ghost's shroud, plain-haired and barefoot. She was darting around the garden with the agility of a hippopotamus, running away from a skinny man in a striped alcoholic shirt.
" Get out! " Ramila shouted angrily.
She had an interview in the morning at a salon on Tverskaya Street. The visitors there were wealthy, and the prices were correspondingly high. The stackable salary – just a dream. So to the appearance of the masters requirements were appropriate. And to go there with black eyes – mauveton!