Konstantin Lvovich and Sophia looked like newlyweds
The website of the Association of Film and TV Producers scared me. Golden contours on a black mourning background and a long list of surnames. “Columbarium” is the only word a sober person could think of, although I wasn’t. Why did I climb drunk into the columbarium? The invitation of the Association to the tenth ceremony of presenting its award, which was sent to me by fellow producers, is to blame for everything.
As soon as I took the waxed postcard with the invitation, I immediately felt an anxiety that needed to be urgently drowned out with two bottles of beer and five glasses of Karelian tincture on the mysterious cloudberry.
– A tragic event, please accept our condolences. Wrap? – ten long-legged carnations in the hands of a florist oozed consumptive remission.
Within 20 minutes, clutching a liquid bouquet to the same sunken chest, I stood in the middle of a cinematic ball, where each of the celluloid stars tried to squeeze out at least a ray of warmth.
Instead of a funeral, I ended up at a Jewish wedding. Nothing, however, surprising.
The violin sobbed sobbingly about “Moscow Evenings” and sobbed from other compositions that took the soul from the barefoot childhood of the majority of those present. There was plenty of wine and vodka.
– Why don’t we wave to Shushenskoye? – I slapped on the sweaty bald head of the host of the ceremony Zhenya Stychkin.
The actor who let go of his intellectual beard never left the image of Lenin. Not the Lenin who wrote 55 volumes of the Complete Works, but the one who, in exile, did not get out of European pubs and bistros.
Are you with your mistress again? I asked.
But he was with his wife. Although if Olga Sutulova is not the spitting image of Inessa Armand, then I don’t drink more ice-cold Riesling in the morning. Marry such Ilyich, maybe there would be no revolution. I would sit in Finland at the dacha, I would plan a vacation in the Tiflis province.
“Look, Kostya Ernst’s wife is pregnant again,” a lady who looked like Elena Podkaminskaya whispered in my ear with bubbles of champagne.
The inelegant silhouette of Sophia really suggested thoughts about the addition to the family. Who better than Konstantin Lvovich to carry out the decree on improving the demographic situation in the country. Not Oleg Dobrodeev.
– With whom do you sleep, what did you cut off for yourself? You can tell me something … – Katya Klimova took me by surprise.
The woman was talking to herself. In psychiatry, this is called the parrot effect. After the divorce and plastic surgery, she constantly hears this question from journalists, and now she herself began to involuntarily repeat it when meeting different people.
“You don’t know him,” Ekaterina woke up from oblivion and proudly looked at the glasses with red and white in my hands.
A beautiful stranger is sure to be a good stepfather to her four children. The main thing is not to drink, otherwise it was worth cutting something off for the sake of an alcoholic.
Pamper yourself
– Leave the baked ham, – champing Daria Moroz caught me at the most intimate thing that can be at a banquet.
I carefully wrapped sausage slices, cheese and slices of melting salmon in a napkin.
– Do you want to pamper your kitty? I asked.
– What? No! I want to pamper myself. That is a cat. I have a cat. – Dasha for the first time in the evening stopped chewing and thought about the depth of her words.
Delicacies puffed pleasantly out of pockets. The mission of a secular reporter seemed to me accomplished. It was time to go home before the liquor stores closed.
– Serezha Zhigunov’s wife is pregnant, – the familiar whisper again brought me back to the profession.
Of course, there was nothing to congratulate Zhigunov. My trained eye suspected his young wife Victoria Vorozhbit only of gluttony, which I did with pleasure.
Leaving drooping carnations on the table of Anna Snatkina and Viktor Vasiliev, in terms of the colors of their ridiculous outfits, they best matched my bouquet, I asked the waiter to bring me Dagestan cognac. The perfect, you know, drink to escape from reality and fall into the sweet world of dreams.
In principle, this task should be performed by the cinema. But our masters are still very far from cognac.
