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Він назвав мене просто перукаркою перед друзями, але я показала йому, що таке приниження.

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У сні мені привиділося, як він назвав мене просто “перукаркою” перед своїми друзями. Я зробила так, щоб він відчув те саме приниження.

У сімнадцять років я зрозуміла раніше за інших — покладатися можна лише на себе. Батько зник, поїхавши за кордон, коли мати важко захворіла. Я, найстарша, взяла все на свої плечі. Влаштувалася помічницею у найближчий салон. Мила голови, підмітала підлогу, носила каву. Здавалося б, дрібниці, але з часом це стало моїм життям.

Я росла, а разом із тим зростав мій професіоналізм. Вчилася у найкращих, вкладала всі сили у роботу, і через кілька років у мене вже була солідна клієнтура — жінки з ім’ям, бізнесвумен, акторки, дружини політиків. Я стала тією, до кого записувалися за два тижні.

А потім з’явився він — Богдан. Ми познайомилися на джазовому фестивалі у Львові. Він — випускник права з Кембриджа, я — дівчина з околиці, яка піднімається з нуля. Нас ніби розділяли світи, але між нами спалахнув роман. Спочатку я не помічала його знизуючих поглядів, коли розповідала про роботу. Його усмішку, коли хтось запитував, чим я займаюся. Але все почало руйнуватися після заручин.

Богдан дедалі частіше жартував: “Ну, ти ж просто перукарка, кохана”, “Тобі буде нудно у цих розмовах”. Він казав це не з докором, а ніби граючись. Але від цих “жартів” у мені все стискалося. На людях він взагалі уникав згадувати мою професію. Наче соромився.

Апогеєм став вечір із його друзями. Всі вони — “еліта”: юристи, викладачі, банкіри. Я мовчала, слухала їхню розмову про реформи та міжнародні угоди. Коли хтось звернувся до мене, Богдан перебив:

“Не завантажуйте її такими темами. Вона ж усього-на-всього перукарка. Правда, кохана?”

Я завмерла. Схотілося провалитися крізь підлогу. У ту мить щось всередині зламалося.

Наступного дня, не сказавши йому ні слова, я взялася за справу.

За тиждень я запросила Богдана до себе на “невеличкі посиденьки” — мовляв, хочу познайомити його з подругами. Він, звісно, погодився. Але не знав, кого там побачить.

Того вечора у моїй хаті зібралися мої клієнтки: директорка телеканалу, власниця мережі бутиків, відома акторка й — увага — його начальниця, пані Коваленко. Він не відразу впізнав її, але, усвідомивши, поблід. З кожним новим словом про мою роботу, з кожною щирою подякою від цих жінок, його обличчя каменіло. Він уперше почув, що я не просто стрижу й укладаю, а повертаю впевненість, підтримую й надихаю.

Коли він підійшов до пані Коваленко й почав розповідати про себе, та здивовано посміхнулася:

“О, то ви — наречений Оленки? А вона ж стільки разів рятувала мене перед ефірами. Блискуча майстриня.”

Я не втрималася. Підійшла й додала:

“Так, це Богдан. Він не полюбляє політику, зате теми про перукарні — його улюблені.”

Богдан відтягнув мене на кухню:

“Ти знущаєшся з мене?!” — прошипів він. — “Це принизливо!”

“Саме так я почувалася за столом із твоїми друзями, коли ти вирішив виставити мене дурнуВін так і не зрозумів, що справжнє мистецтво — не у стрижках, а у вмінні підняти інших, не зламавши їх.

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