I went to Isolde. I say this almost every Friday to my husband and leave the house; he nods his head, usually doesn’t nod, but speaks on the phone, okay, and hangs up. This is no longer a habit, but some strange lifestyle, I have everything, children, husband, house, I do not think about finances, my husband is responsible for everything, I do not think about home, the housekeeper comes almost every day and cleans everything up, I do not think about children, the governess deals with them, walks, reads and teaches the primer, but I leave the house once a week to my “friend”, because I can no longer imagine life differently.

It all started exactly a year ago, then I really went to Isolde, a blond, tall, passionate girlfriend, I met her at the university, I came from Gornopravdinsk, the village of oilmen, lost in the taiga, watch, winter, mosquitoes and rest, and I thought that the whole world has not come to a big city yet. It will be funny to say, but only then I saw the traffic light for the first time, I imagine how wild I seemed to my fellow students, so I reached out to Isolde, which was literally the opposite of me. Extravagant, bright personality, the guys to her and stuck, and she just shot them with his eyes, raked them like garbage, went through and threw unnecessary things into the slope, I admired her courage, her ability to do that, but behind this was also an adventure, she I always stuck in some stories and constantly dragged me around the cafes and bars, but I never had any money, but she always drove.

Much time passed, I got married, and she also managed, I gave birth to two boys, she is a girl, Zhenya, this is her husband, dear man, I feel sorry for him, she literally wipes her feet on him, and for some reason he suffers, sometimes she wants to tell him, because she is walking, don't you know, but she was silent, not my business, I wanted to remain just a friend and nothing more. And now she dragged me to the cafe, the hotel "Tyumen", on the first floor a large cafe with live music, we often come here with Victor, my husband, I order juliens, not with rubber and completely tasteless mushrooms, but normal forest mushrooms, from them such a scent, just remember the forest. So this time she ordered, and Isolde, she herself sweet, ordered us liqueur, pulled me so that I would join her. While I slowly devoured my portion, she told me another story with her next man, how many interesting she already had them, she constantly considered it a duty to tell me about them every time, it’s not interesting to me, but I nod my head, it pays for everything, to me that, the main thing is to get out of the house, to be distracted, just to fill some kind of emptiness. And here she again threw me, just dumped somewhere and everything, she has this happen, not for the first time, and then the next day she comes to my house and starts complaining that I left her and she got to some kind quite a decent situation and that I should be ashamed, but in the language of the very same and turns to ask what he was in bed, but again I am silent and again I nod my head.

She ran away, for twenty minutes now she is gone, I am hungry, I haven’t eaten, and I don’t want to drink her liqueur, I wake up, turn my head from side to side, smoke, do it rarely, usually when I’m nervous and then I saw a girl who looking at me and smiling. I thought that I was not smiling at me, I looked back, but there was nobody there, there were few people in the cafe, some kind of strange, or maybe this friend and I don’t remember her, so embarrassing, I get up and walk over to her table.

“Hello,” she says immediately, inviting me to sit down.

“Hello,” I reply, and sit down, and I rummage around in my memory trying to remember it, but I don’t find it, I don’t remember, I honestly admit.

- And we do not know each other, - she says - Olya, - it seems.

“Ira,” I answer her, all this is strange, but I am not leaving.

- Bored of one? It happens - she spoke calmly and smacked her cigarette, it is fashionable to smoke, but to be able to smoke is talent, it is right to hold a cigarette beautifully, not everyone can, Victor does not smoke at all, but how she holds it in her fingers as if she didn’t let it out , here and Olya kept her carelessly, just like that, and the smoke rose in a thin stream upwards.

“I’m here with my girlfriend, and she’s gone somewhere,” she decided to justify herself, in response Olya smiled, narrowed her eyes and let a trickle of smoke at the ceiling.

- Do not load where it goes.

Indeed, wherever it goes, the jacket because it remained here to hang. So we talked word for word, she said that she also studied at the university, only literary and that they had Marmarich, so we called a teacher of literature, he led her, fat and forever sweaty, and Olya told how he tried To stick to her, and in fact he pestered me, three times he did not sign the record book until he came into his office, the girls told me, if you want to turn in, unbutton the shirt gates a little, bend forward and pretend that you write hard, and I did worse, put on a white shirt, not a blouse, and a shirt, but without a bra, I was then desperation, I had a plane ticket, fly to Dushanbe for Victor, and then not put student's record-book, that risked. When I jumped out of the office with his signature, I started to sweat all over, I heard him sitting at the table and puffing, poor thing. Olya laughed, and so we began to remember life in the university, the time went quickly, the girls sometimes approached her, leaned over and whispered something, they wrote themselves down in a notebook and called a number, 736 or 517, which meant I don’t know, but they, squinting at me went silently. And we chatted again, although several times we were interrupted by the cheers of the couples who came to us, smacked Olga on the cheek, said hello and promised to visit her and again squinting at me left. True, the last time one of her acquaintances asked, looking at me.

- New?

But Olya smiled, stroked his cheek and said.

- Go Lesh, - and he obviously annoyed to leave.

And then for some reason it began to come to me, she was not just Olya, she was some kind of connecting link between them and the girls who left, I remembered the numbers, but these are the numbers of hotel rooms, as I didn’t immediately guess.

- You, - I squinted at her and those guys who settled down at the end of the hall, - you, - I didn’t even know how to ask her more softly.

“Pimp or mother,” she smiled herself, that there was no open smile, “did you want to know that?”

- Is that so? - she asked with doubt, always represented pimps, rude louts who, as slave owners, dispose of women.

“Yes,” she answered calmly, “this is work, and no more than that, well, well paid.

I have never met with prostitutes, and they, if these girls were prostitutes, nothing, beautiful, they have beautiful dresses, makeup is not vulgar, manicures, hairstyles, they are just ladies who came to relax in a restaurant, smiling and joking. Very surprised. They even look happy in comparison with the Isolde, always thought that the prostitutes are rude, vulgar and fell into the economic pit from which they are trying to crawl out thanks to this very thing that they cannot sell their bodies.

“My girls,” it sounded like they were like daughters to her, but she herself is no older than them, probably Olya, twenty-five years old, young, looks like a manager, —do not stand on the street, don’t go to saunas or apartments , no, something, they do it voluntarily, although they receive money for it and not small ones.

- How much? - curiosity appeared.

- In different ways, everything depends on the client, on the time of the session, - she said this, without hiding or lowering her voice, so that suddenly someone would not hear.

- Session? - I was surprised.

- Well, yes, it is usually from two to five hours, in time no one limits what the customer would be satisfied, and the girls also get their pleasure.

- Pleasure? - I was surprised.

- Well yes.

- How can you get pleasure for money?

“Come on,” she was a little indignant, “because nobody forces them, and money is only an addition, for example, Nastya, redhead with long hair,” I immediately remembered ...