There are no ideal men in the world
“There are no ideal men in the world,” Lisa sighed, gazing at the cold city visible through the kitchen window. A lace tulle curtain against the background of a dark purple rectangle of a window marked a certain border and divided the world into two parts. Part “There” — outside the window, and part “Here” — in the spacious kitchen, generously flooded with electric light.
“There” the restless November evening was raging with torn winds. The shadows of bare, chilled trees raged in the foggy mystical light of the lanterns, and the pitiful patches of randomly glowing windows in the dim outlines of distant high-rise buildings stirred up anxiety. “There,” in a cold alien world, loneliness lived.
Liza shrugged her shoulders superstitiously, as if from a chill. It was her loneliness.
“Here,” she was hospitably warmed by the family hearth. Someone else’s hearth
Christina, the owner of the friendly house, cheerfully rattling dishes, seemed not even aware of Liza’s mental turmoil.
“I’m almost ready,” she seemed to be justifying herself. “And you will tell me everything.”
It was precisely for this feeling that Lisa often came here, unconsciously trying to escape from the oppressive emptiness of her apartment. Christina’s cozy nest-home welcomed her with warm hugs.
The tea, carefully poured into cups, was already steaming on the table, and the exquisite aroma of herbs pleasantly tickled the nostrils. Luxurious cakes were languishing on a platter, exuding the smell of fresh pastries.
“Mmm! With custard! Adore,” Lisa closed her eyes, with an effort of will she pushed the anxiety somewhere to “after”, and with pleasure inhaled the delicious smell.
Having made herself more comfortable on the kitchen sofa, she tucked her legs under her and sighed with relief. The evening promised to be pleasant.
Lisa and Christina were somewhat similar, both gray-eyed, pretty blondes, the same age, a little over thirty. But despite this, they continued to be friends simply out of habit. Maybe the reason for this was that Christina had been married for the last seven years and had a daughter. Regarding these points, their interests diverged radically.
“Christy,” said Lisa, “Irina recently told me that she doesn’t understand why men like me?” “You,” she said, “are so invisible.”
With an offended sigh, she automatically took the cake and immediately swallowed it.
“What are you talking about?” Christina almost fell off her stool in indignation, “she’s just jealous! All men look only at you when you walk down the street. You know, they say that “big” women are created for work, but “small” women for love!”
At such moments, Christina felt awkward. She really wanted not only to console Lisa, but to help her with something effective. But she didn’t know how. As a rule, all her good intentions ended in scandal. Several attempts to introduce Lisa to her husband’s friends failed. Lisa didn’t like anyone.
“Mommy,” suddenly a curious girl poked her head through the kitchen door. “When are you going to read to me about the goldfish?”
The husband followed his daughter with a guilty smile:
“Christy, I need a shirt and a tie for tomorrow.”
“Yes, I’ll be there soon,” Christina waved them off, without taking her eyes off Lisa. “Go play some computer games in the meantime.”
“I come to you so rarely, only three times a week,” Lisa got offended. “Can they really not live without you?”
Christina just sighed guiltily; a mountain of unironed linen was waiting for her in the room.
“So,” Liza continued as if nothing had happened, devouring the cakes with incredible speed, “can you imagine, our chef’s driver began to follow me. He gave me a ride home twice and asked for a visit.”
“Well!?” Christina perked up. “Do you like him?”
“Who?” Liza didn’t understand. “Are you kidding me? What kind of guy is he if he earns pennies? Of course, I will never date the driver.”
“Lisa,” Christina said carefully so as not to offend her friend, “if you don’t like the driver, then he’s not the only one there. There are so many men around you.”
Lisa worked as a secretary in a large energy company and did not experience a shortage of male attention. But while receiving compliments, flowers, gifts, invitations to a restaurant, for some reason she did not receive only marriage proposals.
“Where did you see the men? In a TV series?” Lisa sighed doomedly, “There are no men even in the wild. All became extinct as a species. And those who survived,” she finished on a minor note, “are the married ones.”
It became quiet in the kitchen. Christina thought feverishly. Liza’s lamentations on the topic of loneliness could take up the whole evening. But somewhere there must be the best man, which Lisa will definitely like. It’s just that before that she always met the wrong ones.
Christina was remembering intensely and suddenly it dawned on her.
“Adam,” she cried joyfully.
“What?” Lisa didn’t understand, almost choking on another cake.
She suddenly realized that she had eaten almost everything and blushed with frustration. The last eclair lay lonely on the platter.
“My waist,” Liza said with genuine horror.
“You will marry Adam,” Christina continued, pressing her point.
“No,” Liza said, just in case, and thoughtfully sniffed the lonely cake.
“Why? Are you looking for the perfect man?”
“Exactly, perfect”
“He’s perfect,” Christina said confidently, remembering Adam’s enveloping glance.
“So he’s married,” Lisa did not back down.
“He is not married. He has a luxury apartment, a house in the suburbs with a barbecue zone,” Christina began to list all of Adam’s advantages, “a business, two expensive cars. And he is completely free.”
“So he’s old,” Liza suggested incredulously. “I can’t stand an old male body. When I imagine someone old touching me in bed, I start shaking!
“He’s not old at all. He just turned forty years old.”
“Forty…” Liza muttered.
“He’s athletic,” Christina quickly interrupted her, “he literally lives in the gym.”
Christina was simply bursting with delight. How did she not think about this guy before? Lisa, as soon as she sees him, immediately falls in love. Every girl will fall in love with Adam.
No longer allowing the confused Lisa to say a single word, Christina incessantly listed Adam’s endless merits.
“Can you imagine what delicious pies Mrs. Donovan bakes? She is such a sincere and kind woman.”
“Who is Mrs. Donovan?” Liza interjected with suspicion.
“She is Adam’s mom.”
“So he’s not an ORPHAN?”
“Er…”
“So he’s not perfect. I told you that there are no perfect men.”
Christina suddenly remembered her husband’s unironed shirts and the fairy tale “The Goldfish,” which she needed to read to her daughter.
