Rita froze in place. Before her was the very café her grandmother had talked about. It had opened recently, and the staff was not yet fully complete. Perhaps there would be a job for her as well. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open.
Once, many years ago—although it seemed an eternity to her, in reality, it was just seven years ago. Rita was eighteen then and gave her first solo concert. The success was overwhelming, and a bright future loomed ahead. But her dreams and plans were not meant to come true.
Returning home, their car was rammed at high speed by a truck. Her father and mother died instantly. Rita was badly injured but remained conscious. She saw her parents leave. When her grandmother heard of the tragedy, she suffered a stroke, and her legs nearly stopped working. Life was divided into «before» and «after.» Three months in the hospital.
Then began a long period of recovery, one surgery after another. She was left with a severe limp—the bones had healed incorrectly, and the doctors had made a mistake trying to correct the situation. Her grandmother barely got out of bed. The first two years were hellish. Closing her eyes, Rita would see her parents’ faces, the crash, the blood…
The first thing they had to do was sell all the jewelry. Her grandmother quietly cried while Rita packed things in boxes. Medications cost a fortune. She couldn’t find work—her limp scared off employers. Perhaps it wasn’t just about her limp, but also her look, her expression. There were few options. Rita could only play the piano. Yes, she was a good student at school, but…
Apart from school and music, she knew nothing else. So she tried to get a job as a salesperson or similar work. But she couldn’t work around the clock because of her grandmother, and there were plenty of people available for daytime shifts. When the money from selling the jewelry ran out, Rita sold her piano. Her parents had saved up for it, taken out loans. The piano was antique, expensive, high-quality.
Rita spent two nights in tears before she decided to take this step. She didn’t know whose hands the piano would end up in. Strangers came, counted out the money, and took the instrument away. Now her grandmother slowly moved around the apartment by herself, albeit with a walker. Rita arranged for her to receive a disability allowance, and now they barely made ends meet. Nothing extra—they lived frugally, without meat or sweets, but at least they survived. Her grandmother learned about the café from neighbors.
Sometimes they would drop by for a visit, bring something for tea, and sit for a long time discussing news and gossip.
The café door opened silently, but bells jingled above Rita’s head. A young man appeared in the hall: — Hello, we are not open yet. — Hello, I know. I’m here about a job, — Rita smiled shyly. — What position are you interested in? — Any. I only have a high school education. — Maybe as a waitress? The girl blushed even more: — No, I couldn’t be a waitress. The guy raised an eyebrow: — Then the only position left is a cleaner. The schedule is from noon until closing. — That works for me.
He immediately lost interest in her and shouted into the back of the room: — Valer, come out here! We have a candidate for cleaning.
A minute later another man appeared. He looked Rita over with a evaluating gaze: — Drinking on the job—termination without pay. Skipping work—the same. I hope there are few valid reasons. — Of course, — Rita replied quietly. — Let’s go.
He led her through the hall, explaining what and where needed cleaning. The girl listened attentively, nodding. Valery turned around a couple of times, noticed her limp, and snorted as if he understood everything.
Rita followed Valery, listened to his instructions, but suddenly stumbled and stopped. Everything around her seemed to disappear—she saw her piano. She would recognize it among thousands, among millions. She took a step forward, touched the lid of the instrument, closed her eyes. Inside her, music sounded, as if forgotten melodies came to life.
But her immersion was interrupted by a rough, mocking voice: — What are you staring at? Go grab a mop. You’re not fit for the piano.
Rita jerked her hand away. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she held them back. For a moment, she imagined how she looked from the outside: worn clothes, a limping leg, a dimmed gaze. — Excuse me.
Valery was the senior staff member. His friend Alexey, who first approached Rita, invited him here. Alexey held the position of chief administrator, and Valery dreamed that sooner or later he would catch him making a mistake and take his place. This new establishment resembled a restaurant more in size and level. Rumors were that the owner had several such places, not only in their city.
Oh, Valery would give a lot to be in the owner’s place. There were three days left until the opening. There was no time to dream—it was necessary to ensure everything was perfectly clean and beautiful. The man sighed. The staff seemed to be decently assembled. Even pretty girls were there. If only it weren’t for this «limpy»—she spoiled the whole picture. Most likely, if Valery had approached her first, she would have left immediately.
But Alexey was always soft-hearted. Let her work. Usually, such people pull their own weight. And if she’s kept in check, there will be no problems at all.
Valery stretched and went to check on the work. Rita had been working here for half a year and, surprisingly, felt happy. They paid her on time, and the salary for her position was quite decent.
The team was friendly, all the girls were kind and responsive. Only Valery seemed to dislike her and was always trying to find fault. But Rita always did her work conscientiously, so there was nothing to criticize. This, apparently, infuriated Valery, forcing him to look for reasons for remarks out of thin air.
— Why is the bucket in the middle of the hall? — he asked irritably.
Rita leaned on her mop and smiled: — Valery Nikolaevich, where should it stand if I’m washing the floor?
— I don’t know, somewhere in the corner. It’s in everyone’s way.
— Who’s everyone? The café is closed. How can it be in the way?
Rita heard the girls laugh. It was indeed funny. The bucket of water stood on the dance floor, where there was plenty of room to walk around it from any side.
Valery also heard the laughter and turned red with anger. But he couldn’t even scold the girls—they didn’t report to him. All that was left was to take out his anger on Rita and also on the dishwasher. The dishwasher immediately sent him packing, so the main burden fell on Rita. Valery was already preparing to say something sharp to her when Alexey entered: — Oh, Valer, I was looking for you.
— Something wrong?
— No, everything’s fine. Just letting you know: the café is closed to visitors this weekend. We’re having a local banker’s birthday celebration.
— Nikiforov, right? — Exactly him. — Well, how about that! Couldn’t he afford a restaurant? — Well, he said he came here for lunch once and really liked it. And why a restaurant? Let him relax here. The people are all respectable, well-mannered, they pay well, and there are no problems with them. — Nothing will be broken, no scandals. — That’s also true. — Alright.
Valery was distracted, his anger fizzled out, and he quickly left. Rita breathed a sigh of relief. There was very little left, and she could go home.
— Oh, Rit, he won’t give you peace! — at one of the tables sat Svetlana. They lived in the same district, so they often left together. Rita sighed: — What can I do? I’ll endure. — You should do what Sergeyevna did! Sent him packing, slammed the door! She recently poked him with an apron and said: «Go wash the dishes, I’m going home!» And it was at the busiest time. Our Valera got scared, even started apologizing. Now he doesn’t even enter the dishwasher area. Rita laughed: — Good for her! — Yeah, I couldn’t do that—I’d be fired right away.
On the day of the banquet, everyone was on edge. The waitresses checked the table setting for the tenth time. Rita, with a cloth in her hands, ran around the hall, wiping invisible dust. Even Valera left everyone alone, busy with his own affairs. All these days, Rita tried to remember where she had heard the surname Nikiforov. Then she decided that it was probably just a well-known name, that’s why it stuck in her memory.
Guests arrived in luxurious cars. The parking lot was packed to capacity. The girls cautiously peeked out and commented: — Oh, look, that’s Olesya Kirova, she owns beauty salons all over the city! — And that’s the owner of the shopping center near the market! — And there’s the owner himself!
Rita felt her heart beat faster. In principle, she didn’t need to go out into the hall, unless something was broken or spilled. But, apparently, she caught the general nervousness.
An hour had passed since the start of the event when Alexey burst into the back room: — Valer, girls, it’s all over! The owner will kill me! — What happened? — We still don’t have a regular musician. The banker thought that in addition to modern music, there would also be live music. He saw our piano. What do we do, huh?
Alexey looked around at those present, not even noticing Valery’s smug smirk, and asked hopelessly: — Can anyone play the piano? Valery immediately cut in: — Of course, no one. — I can, — Rita said quietly, looking at Alexey. Valery burst out laughing: — A mop and a piano are different things, idiot! But Alexey wasn’t listening to him: — Rit, how well can you play? You understand it’ll only be worse if you mess up?
— I understand, don’t worry. Just, I can’t go out in this.
Alexey clapped his hands: — Girls, can you help solve the problem? — Of course, we’ll take care of it right now!
Rita reached out to him: — Can you turn off the lights while I sit at the piano?
Alexey looked at her puzzled, but apparently guessed what was up, and simply nodded. Ten minutes later, Rita, well oriented in the hall, was already sitting at the instrument. She wanted to cry. She lowered her hands onto the keys, and together with the dimmed lights, a sad melody poured into the hall. All conversations ceased.
Rita saw and heard no one. She played, closing her eyes, enjoying and simultaneously yearning. The girl didn’t notice how tears slowly rolled down from under her lashes.
— She’s crying. Why? — Alexey asked, looking at Svetlana. — Why, why? Because it’s her piano. She had to sell it after the accident to afford the medications. Lesh, if you blab to anyone, I’ll kill you!
Alexey looked at Rita with different eyes. How had he not noticed before how thin, almost transparent her hands were, her long fingers, and even her posture… Everyone was misled by her limp, which at one stroke crossed out all her merits. And yet her profile… This was the face of a spiritual, talented person.
— What, stuck? — I’m shocked myself. Ritka, when she plays, is a completely different person.
As soon as the melody fell silent, the hall stood up. Everyone applauded. Alexey exhaled: — Wow! Valerka, look for a new cleaner. I’ve found the musician myself.
Valery nodded dejectedly. The dream once again stuck out its tongue at him and disappeared into the fog. A man approached Rita.
It was the very banker whose birthday they were celebrating today: — Hello, I recognize you. Are you Margarita? Margarita Poletskaya?
She looked at him bewildered: — Yes, that’s me. Do we know each other? — I was at your first concert. My wife dragged me there. You know, I’m not a big music fan, but I was impressed then. Where have you been? I tried several times to find out when there would be another concert, but no one knew anything for sure. Some said you had left, others—that something had happened to you…
Rita shook her head: — I’m sorry, I’d rather not…
Alexey couldn’t hold back. He told the banker everything when he approached him. — I don’t understand why… After all, those who crashed into them should have compensated for everything, including the surgeries. — Well, I don’t know about that. I only found out today myself.
Rita and her grandmother were awakened by a knock on the door. — Who’s this so early?
Rita opened the door and was stunned. Before her stood her piano. Behind it, a smiling Alexey and workers. — Rit, welcome! — What is this? How? — Nikiforov bought us a new modern instrument for the café, and he ordered this one to be returned to you. — For me? — Rita burst into tears. — Don’t cry, here’s a letter from him!
Rita took the envelope in her hands. The note said that his evening yesterday was wonderful thanks to her. And the banker also wrote that in life, everything should be balanced. She was expected at a private clinic for a consultation, and he would pay all the expenses for the surgery. Rita need not worry about the money; that wasn’t the main thing at all.
And so, a year later, she and Lesh danced their first wedding dance exactly in their café.
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