That's how the cookie crumbles, or Light flirting that strengthens family relationships

Yu. Tina.

Oh, these pies!

Or a light flirtation that strengthens family relationships.

Waving goodbye to her husband, who was standing on the step of the "Moscow–Ufa" train car, Sasha

hurried into the station building, found a free payphone there, and dialed the number.

— Leonid Mikhailovich? This is Osadchaya, Alexandra Petrovna… You haven't forgotten our agreement, have you? No? Excellent… So can I expect you today?… When?… Yes, get ready and come for dinner… Should I give you the address?… No, no, Starkova lives further away, but my apartment is in the same building as Rodina's. You've been there. Just on a different floor. Bye, see you soon.

How

did she dare? Encouraging memories.

How wonderfully everything is turning out! — she thinks on her way home on the subway. And how did such an idea even occur to her? Or rather, how did she dare to do such a thing?

She remembers (for the umpteenth time) how the entire department celebrated Women's Day last year. Not at work, as was usual, but at the home of one of the employees. Five women, of whom only two were with their husbands, and the rest were single. And three young men, though two of them were already married, but agreed to sacrifice their family duties for such a holiday. The bachelor, strangely enough, was the oldest of them.

What else? Cheerful disposition, never downcast. And that evening, with his stories and jokes, he literally had everyone rolling with laughter. Seryozha — Sasha's lawful husband — almost choked… Then they turned on the record player, put on one record, then another, and the dancing began. How he danced! He spun, twirled, sharply pushed her away to arm's length, then just as sharply pulled her close. And how skillfully he managed, during all these manipulations, to perform fleeting and seemingly accidental touches unnoticed by others.

With his hands and lips. And mischievous little devils danced in his eyes

When his left palm suddenly landed on her breast, she almost gasped. Of course, she should have rebuked the scoundrel (who did he think she was?), stopped dancing, and returned to the table. But such warmth emanated from that palm… And when, seeing no resistance, he cupped her breast with his whole hand and, what's more, began feeling for the nipple through the fabric, Osadchaya was completely overcome with heat, so much so that, contrary to all rules of propriety, she only pressed herself tightly against him and preferred to hide her face on his shoulder to conceal her blazing cheeks, which he immediately took advantage of, pressing his lips to them.

The dance ended, all the couples went to the dining room. And Leonid, making sure that all of them, filing into the corridor, weren't thinking of looking back, kissed her on the lips. Sasha, also casting a quick glance at the retreating backs, hung recklessly on his neck and passionately devoured his lips.

But they had to return to the others.

— Thank you, — he said and, having already stroked her breasts with both hands, and then run them over her hips, took her arm and led her to the table.

With what impatience she waited for her next turn (he danced with all the ladies in turn). But she didn't get it.

— I beg your pardon, — he suddenly announced, — I must hurry, I have an appointment.

— Why did you, knowing about our evening here, also arrange a date? — one of the ladies exclaimed indignantly.

— I didn't arrange it, it was arranged for me. Just before leaving work, a girl I know called and said she would be waiting for me at nine o'clock at the "Forum," where she had already gotten tickets. It happened so unexpectedly that I couldn't get out of it. And I didn't think then that it would be so fun and pleasant here, that time would fly by so quickly…

— Yes, it's a pity, — Sasha also agreed.

A pity that all hopes are dashed. Hopes? For what? Well, at least for this, she caught herself in a wild thought, that after the next dance, not content with fleeting caresses, on the way to the dining room, he would suddenly suggest they peek into the bathroom for a minute…

It didn't happen. Then, exactly ten months ago. And what about today? We'll sit at the table, then put on music, start dancing, and there will be no need to limit ourselves to fleeting, unnoticed by others, stolen caresses… — this was the picture she painted for herself in her thoughts, riding up the escalator.

It's frosty outside. People are walking from the metro to the exhibition. A holiday… On the bus, Starkova turns out to be a chance fellow passenger. They work together, in the same department, just in different rooms. And they live in neighboring buildings.

— Nina Vasilyevna, where are you coming from? — Osadchaya asked out of politeness.

— From Yerofeyeva's. We celebrated Christmas at her place.

Yerofeyeva and Starkova were friends. Spinsters already over 40 each. Cheerful, loud-voiced, and not recognizing any secrets, ready to immediately tell the curious what they had just learned about others. For example, on that same memorable evening, when, following Leonid, the two other young men also asked to go home to their wives, and the husbands of Osadchaya and Rodina, the hostess of the apartment, went to see them off to the bus stop, leaving the women to clear the table, wash the dishes, and gossip about the just-ended party, Yerofeyeva suddenly declared categorically:

— Vadik would surely have stayed longer if Lenka from the first department had been among us.

— What, is there something between them?

— That Armenian charmer messed with her head, so she agreed for him to come to her while her husband was away.

— And the child?

— What about the child? He wasn't even a year old then, a clueless infant.

— Well, and what?

— Nothing special.

— And how do you know all this?

— From her herself, — Starkova explained. — She's my apartment neighbor and asked me then to linger a bit on the way from work for fear that we might bump into him nose to nose. That's why, when I returned home closer to midnight and met her in the kitchen, I naturally asked if everything went normally. She just waved her hand and said with annoyance: he barely started, and it was over, didn't wait for a second time, left…

— And what do you think about Igor?

— Cheerful, in that respect similar to Lyonechka, but somehow spineless. His wife, I think, twists him around her finger.

— And does Leonid Mikhailovich have a spine?

— Oh yes, what a womanizer he is!

— Yes, girls from the design departments still come to him under plausible pretexts.

— They come… I wouldn't mind tasting his little rod either. But you can't approach him… "Don't sleep with those you work with," — he answered me once when I asked what was going on with one of those brides who run to him. Outside the walls of our institute, I think he has a whole pond full of them.

— Exactly, sometimes he comes to work pale as a sheet, asks to open the doors of the safes standing in the corner, puts a chair between them, and sits down to catch up on sleep.

— Maybe from a hangover?

— What are you talking about? If he had a hangover, he'd go to the lab to ask for alcohol to sober up. I don't remember that ever happening.

Osadchaya is distracted from these memories of that women's talk by Starkova's question:

— And you, my dear, are returning home so early? Where have you been?

— In the center, I needed to buy something, — Sasha suddenly invents, not knowing why herself.

— And you didn't buy anything? — Starkova continues to pry, looking at her empty hands.

— No, wasted my time for nothing, — Sasha continues to lie.

And she thinks to herself that it's even good she didn't say anything about her husband's departure. Why should she know that? Yes, and another thing: God forbid my guest runs into her here or anyone else who knows him.

Would he think of anything to say in his defense in such a case? She probably should have warned him during the phone call or at least hinted that he was invited not for a meeting with his former colleagues, but with only one of them. But somehow her tongue wouldn't turn to reveal everything to him at once. Although in the first conversation, on New Year's Eve, inviting him, she spoke deliberately vaguely, so that one might think it was about repeating that March evening, and with the same company… Yes, I still need to stop by the store, buy something for the table…

Arriving home, Osadchaya undresses, puts the groceries on the kitchen counter, and heads to take a bath. Her thoughts are still occupied with memories… Kanunnikov's desk was positioned in such a way that she and Rodina were seated behind his back. And so one day, catching her gaze, frozen on the back of his head, Rodina whispered:

— What are you thinking about, friend?… What are you admiring?

— His haircut. And where does he get such a magnificent haircut? Do you know?

— He claims on Kuznetsky Most and at the "National"… What can I say, a good head. And he himself is a good boy, sweet… I confess, I would allow him a lot if he…

— Yes, perhaps…

And suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, the news: he's leaving, for another job. Actually, he had submitted such a statement before. But then, the first time, the party members, under the stern gaze of the management, condemned his "attempt to desert," "to chase after a long ruble." And now again.

— No matter how much you feed a wolf, he keeps looking toward the forest, — the head of the department, Yemelyanov, said with annoyance, signing the application.

— I'm sorry you're leaving us, Leonid Mikhailovich, — Osadchaya also said to him when they found themselves alone in the room for a moment. — We will miss you.

— Do you know my phone number? — he unexpectedly asked. — If you call, I'll be glad to hear what's new with you. And in general… Maybe we'll see each other again. If you decide to get together and remember me, invite me.

For some business, she had to go to the medical unit that same day.

— Your Kanunnikov came by with his clearance sheet, — she heard there from the nurse. — A pity. What a guy! Such a womanizer!

— A womanizer?

— Oh yes! He'd come, his eyes darting around, as if undressing you to the skin and evaluating…

— Was he often at our place? Anything with his health?

— Well, no, not really. Only once did we have to fuss with him, when during a medical checkup we needed to probe his stomach, and he just couldn't swallow the rubber hose with the olive on the end… So we couldn't get a gastric juice sample from him.

— And what else did he need from you?

— Most often he came in the morning and asked for something to keep him from sleeping.

— Hmm, he really often complained that he hadn't slept again. And how did you help him out?

— We gave him caffeine, one, and sometimes two ampoules. And he immediately became fresh as a cucumber. What's caffeine? If he had asked for something else, we wouldn't have refused…

"I probably wouldn't have either," — Osadchaya silently agreed with her then.

And now, getting out of the bath, she dries herself thoroughly with a towel and preens in front of the mirror.

She should have gone to the hairdresser and gotten a hairstyle, but yesterday that could have raised unnecessary questions from her husband, and today it's too late. Yes, her face isn't particularly attractive, her skin is by no means satiny, her cheeks are a bit puffy and flabby… Should I powder them a little?… Now let's line the eyelashes and eyebrows a bit… Color the lips, again just a little… Another matter — her breasts, there's something to see there.

Taking them in both hands, she examines with some pleasure how they are reflected in the mirror. Front and profile. Yes, still, perhaps, a bit heavy and therefore sag a little… Well, never mind… What was the bra invented for? Where is it?… Ah, here… Let's try it on…

Or maybe manage without it? No, in it you look somewhat better, more striking… And an extra line of defense won't hurt… By the way, where is my new bra, bought for the New Year, also black but with a front clasp?

Osadchaya heads to the bedroom, rummages there in the wardrobe, finds the new bra, and puts it on. Further dressing happens right there, in the bedroom, in front of the large mirror on the wardrobe door. Panties — these ones. Also black… Hmm, the waist, of course, isn't wasp-like, and the stomach isn't flattering… But never mind, we'll cinch it all with a belt with garters for stockings. There was one like that somewhere, that hasn't been worn since the last pregnancy — became too small… Here it is… So, now let's tighten it… Oh, my eyes are popping out. But never mind, we'll endure… Stockings… Which ones are better? Well, probably black ones too… And a black slip… And on top? Maybe the new green dress? Like this… I like it… And how will it look through other eyes? Isn't it too tight? Especially the stomach and hips… Besides, the neckline in front is too big, the top of the slip is visible… No, let it be this blouse — silk, dark blue, and with a high collar.

And a skirt — made of thick material and long… Like this, perfect… Now I need to spray on some perfume and can set the table.

Prelude.

But she doesn't have time to properly set the table in the kitchen. The doorbell rings. Dashing into the bedroom for a second and casting a last glance at her reflection in the mirror, Sasha goes to open the apartment door.

— Is that you, Leonid Mikhailovich?… Come in… Glad to see you!

— Hello, Alexandra Petrovna! Here I am, fresh off the press.

— Please, take off your coat and hat, hang them here… No-no, don't take off your shoes. Come to the kitchen. Unfortunately, I haven't had time to set the table yet, you'll help me… Didn't you get cold?

— It's warm outside…

— Warm? It was seven degrees this morning when I left the house.

— Well, now it's probably around five.

— Still… It's winter, after all… So we'll warm you up now. Oh, you brought a bottle! Open it, and I'll finish preparing the appetizers. Here are the glasses, pour for now… The glasses are small, though. Maybe I should get bigger ones?

— Let them be these, matching. What a lovely table