Joint projects. Dating story no. 43

Sveta decided to refurbish her kitchen-living room. It was long overdue, and she earned quite enough, in principle, to hire professionals. On the recommendation of friends she approached one crew; the lads were happy to take on private jobs and were famous for working fast and well.

Broadly speaking, a story like this happened to Sveta every couple of years, right in the gaps between her work projects and her travels, and every time it ended badly: the crews turned out not to be professional enough, they did something wrong, a row broke out, Sveta got upset, became very nervous indeed, trumpeted all over social media that the crew was not that good after all, and so on. In the end, through conflict and shouting, the job somehow got finished, and Sveta was indignant that the workmen did not take her seriously because of the way she looked.

Her looks really were something. Medium-length hair dyed a bright blonde framed a very sweet little face that was always only lightly made up. Wide-set blue eyes, full of delight and wonder, and full lips were set off by bright jewellery and no less bright dresses — Sveta ran a couple of fashion boutiques, so she never lacked for good clothes. Whether unfortunately or luckily,

But Sveta knew how to survive, she span around as best she could and even took a strange pleasure in that endless spinning. She did complain to me, of course, about the excess of events in her life, but it was watching her that gave me the nerve to rework the famous line from the army regulations about an officer at a run: a “frusti” standing still in wartime means... to put it more decorously... that the Arctic fox has come into our lives, the small animal whose Russian name doubles as the polite word for total disaster; in peacetime it means the fox has grown very fat indeed. And yes, “frusti” is our professional slang for the personality type of people like Sveta. Their lives are permanently in full spate; that is simply how their character works. By established tradition, the description of the personality type comes at the end of the story.

So, once again Sveta decided to do up her home and hire a crew of tradesmen. The crew was run by one Venya, or rather Veniamin: by the accounts of those who had dealt with him, a master of all his golden trades, specialising in electrics. Venya could do anything and worked the impossible. At the same time Venya was not remotely shy in his choice of words and expressions, he was quick to flare up but quick to forgive, and altogether he was a classic walking set of clichés about masculinity, manliness and sexism. The people who had recommended him to Sveta spent a long time begging her to go easy on him, because Venya was quite capable of telling her where to go, and that would be an irreplaceable loss. Sveta was filled with foreboding, but she invited Veniamin over all the same.

As expected, a conflict broke out at the very first meeting. Venya told Sveta honestly that she had dreamed up some outlandish rubbish, and that the previous tradesmen had been plain welshers, judging by the results of their work. Sveta agreed about the previous tradesmen and categorically disagreed with his verdict on her idea. She tried politely to explain to Veniamin Anatolyevich that he had not seen or thought through all the aspects of the concept under discussion...

“What is there to think through, if nobody does it that way, because it is nonsense on stilts! (naturally, the original came with three-storey metaphorical descriptions of bodily sensations).”

“Look, people do make things like this, and it looks really cool!” Sveta tried to smooth things over.

“Girlie, you know about fashion and I know about building! So even if it is fashionable, from a construction point of view it is nonsense on stilts!”

“And what gives you the right to call me a girlie! I will have you know...”

It was a magnificent argument. The windows rattled, the walls shook, and Sveta and Venya very nearly shouted themselves hoarse.

He had not expected such a rebuff from a pretty, glamorous blonde, but he liked it. Looking at this wonder of nature in a completely new way, almost with respect, Veniamin muttered that he would give it some thought and call her. At home he really did sit down at his desk and start working out the drawings. The very next day he rang Sveta and announced proudly that all right then, he would build her nonsense in such a way that it would actually work. Sveta was jubilant, the crew set to work, and by the end of the week the kitchen-living room had been transformed.

“I told you it would be cool!” Sveta beamed in triumph.

“Well, yes, miracles do happen,” Veniamin admitted reluctantly.

“Miracles and miracle-workers!”

In a rush of feeling Sveta actually hugged Veniamin, who was rather taken aback by this turn of events. And the next joint project was not long in coming. First they transformed Sveta’s bedroom together, then her retail spaces, and every time it went by the same script: a completely madcap idea that Venya at first refused to accept, cursing Sveta up hill and down dale, then Venya would sit down to think and work out exactly how it could all be done. And then he would look at Sveta with even more astonished respect.

She was fundamentally different from most of the girls he knew: independent, strong and so unpredictable that he could only marvel. Veniamin was used to scolding weak women who played at being little girls and tried to have everything done at someone else’s expense. There were plenty of those about. Beautiful and useless. Sveta was different: she drew attention to herself and even commanded respect.

no, Venya felt with every fibre of his being that Sveta had a good attitude towards men in general and was utterly delighted with him in particular.

And Sveta really was delighted. Both with the work of such a man and with the man himself. And the thought that there was nothing left to renovate, and that the man might therefore walk out of her life for good, alarmed her greatly. That could not be allowed. Here she was, having perhaps already pictured her whole future with him, and he was simply going to leave? No, people do not just walk away from her! And Sveta, without the slightest embarrassment, invited Veniamin round for coffee and cognac (but without the coffee, Venya liked to add afterwards, always specifying that it was simply impossible not to respect a woman like that).

Venya was not to be outdone and invited Sveta to a tasting of his collection of fine teas. And then she invited him over again, and then he invited her again. Then they went away on holiday together, and then on another one.

The “happy couple” thought it over and decided that in that case, why not move in together... Which set off a new wave of renovations, this time at Veniamin’s place, and a new wave of rows, from which both of them seemed to derive lasting pleasure. It is even funny that Venya later admitted, almost “by the textbook”, that Sveta’s ideas really were completely wild.

Though the wildest idea of all turned out to be Venya’s own. He suggested that Sveta give up work and stay at home with the children.

“What children?”

“Ours. The future ones.”

Sveta was even glad of the chance, because at last a real, strong man who would take care of everything was offering her what every woman dreams of. A year and a half went on trying to conceive, seven months on a difficult pregnancy with an early birth, and after more than two years at home in total Sveta was howling. She kept trying for several more years, gave it everything she had, cared, worried, fussed. It was thanks to her that Veniamin’s firm grew, gathered momentum and landed a number of very large projects.

But Sveta herself seemed to be stuck in a swamp, locked into this routine. Her husband only laughed at her idea of going back to work: not a woman’s business, he said; her job now was at home with the child. She tried to take that with complete seriousness: the child was rushed round clubs and early-development schools, Sveta round cookery and design courses, but something was not right...

And on top of everything else Venya started playing around. Women can tell such things by the smell. And then they notice all the inconsistencies and the things left unsaid. Here Venya muttered a strange reply, there strange messages on his phone, and presents in his coat pocket that Veniamin never mentioned at all... Their child, though, he adored, and he was ready to do anything for the child. For Sveta’s sake — no. With every day she felt more and more out of place, spent dozens of hours in counselling and came to the conclusion that a divorce could not be avoided. And, strangely enough, that realisation brought her enormous relief.

The idea of divorce came hard to Veniamin. It was one thing when he himself occasionally wondered about breaking free, and quite another when his own wife suddenly decided to walk out on him. That was unacceptable, but Sveta dug her heels in. She went back to work, rented a flat and simply filed for divorce. And all this with a six-year-old child! Because he, if you please, did not value her!

The process was far from simple; Veniamin was used to demolishing every obstacle, but Sveta was quite the diamond, one you can neither crush nor crumble. And once again, just as at the very beginning of their acquaintance, Veniamin, without meaning to, was filled with considerable respect for her. No, he knew perfectly well that the past could not be brought back, but, strangely enough, after the divorce their passion flared up with new force. Perhaps what guaranteed it was Sveta’s unavailability, her freedom, or perhaps the fact that she could fulfil herself. Venya watched with genuine delight as his wife, blooming again, pulled off completely unthinkable feats: working, caring for the child, and even finding time for very friendly conversations with him, stressing every time how good she felt on her own and how she needed nobody else.

“You know, if you had let me go straight away, we could have done without the divorce,” Sveta said one day, half joking, half serious, nestling against his shoulder after yet another very passionate meeting.

“Right then, let us get married?” Veniamin proposed cheerfully.

“Cunning of you!” Sveta drawled. “So you can start cheating on me again?”

“But I can cheat on you right now!” Venya said in surprise.

“And right now I can cheat on you!” Sveta snorted.

“Just you try!” Veniamin muttered, offended.

“Or what?”

“The less you know, the better you sleep!”

At the time I met them they were still living like that, dashing over to each other, faintly reminiscent of the characters in the old film “The Marrying Man”.

Except that both of them sensibly ignored the bureaucratic part of “getting married”. And both flatly refused to call it a living-apart marriage. What they have is not a marriage, if you please, it is a relationship on the principle of “it’s all interesting” (as opposed to the usual “it’s complicated” on social media). When I asked how much longer they were planning to live this way, Veniamin frowned wearily and Sveta shrugged breezily.

“Being divorced, we have less routine between us and more passion; I am all for a life like that.”

“And what about a second child?”

“Darling, let me let you in on a terrible secret: no child needs a marriage.”

“So that is how we live...”

“Exactly: joint dinners, joint projects, joint children and no joint routine!”