Olga put on the dark red maid's skirt and then looked for the bra, blouse and dark red jacket lying around on the floor of the room. When she had the pieces together, she took another drag from the cigarette, then put on the tops as well and looked back at the bed where Shakhlikov lay exhausted and happy. She finished her cigarette with a certain satisfaction. "Men," she thought, "are so easy to manipulate. And if you only challenge them, there's still enough time for the really interesting things. He didn't recognise me in that ridiculous maid's outfit, even though we've been working in the same department for quite some time. But in this case, I'm helped by the fact that he probably pays more attention to breasts and buttocks than to faces. So, but now for the actual reason for the visit!"
From Shakhlikov's trousers, which were lying on the floor in the anteroom, she took the bunch of keys and went into the study. She opened the door to the neighbouring flat with the matching key and went through the small corridor. Before knocking on the door, she again examined her "uniform" and mentally went through the phrases in German she had prepared herself for. Her curiosity to see the mysterious guest Aleksandra had told her about was irrepressible. She would have done almost anything for it; and looking back, sleeping with Shakhlikov had been far from a sacrifice.
At the knock, she heard a friendly "Come in, Mr Shakhlikov." She opened the door and came face to face with a puzzled man in a black suit with the strange black white-collared shirt she knew from pictures.
Johann was confused. The normal, though to him more and more ridiculous, procedure for the maid's visit was that he retired to Shakhlikov's study, the maid then entered his flat through the main entrance, brought new towels and always dusted and changed the sheets on Mondays. Johann quickly tried to put the few Russian words he had learned from Shakhlikov in the meantime into the right order: "Good day. Please don't speak without your impostor! Thank you!"
Olga looked confusedly at Johann, who gestured with his hand for her to wait a moment. He fetched the Russian dictionary from the desk and found the word he was looking for: "Interpreter. Not without your interpreter!"
Olga smiled and replied in broken German, "I wish you a good day too. Do you have any wishes?"
Only now did Johann notice that the maid was carrying neither fresh towels nor any other cleaning equipment. Moreover, he was now thinking, why did she come through Shakhlikov's room but without him? "Please wait please!" he stammered to her and then almost ran past her into Shakhlikov's room.
Shakhlikov was still asleep on the bed. Somehow embarrassed, Johann covered him up; and then tried to wake him. First Shakhlikov mumbled something incomprehensible to Johann, then he suddenly startled up: "Tatiana?"
When he saw Johann, he was all the more confused. "Please excuse my intrusion into your room, Mr. Shakhlikov, but a maid was just with me. She seemed strange to me because she didn't have any of the usual utensils with her. I would need a translator, please."
Shakhlikov jumped out of bed, looked around briefly, put on the pants he had quickly found and ran into Johann's flat. There Olga, in a maid's costume, was just coming back from the front door. With Johann at his back, he immediately addressed Olga in Russian: "How dare you, Tatjana, go into this room? You know the regulations for these rooms!"
Olga stood wide-legged in front of him, "Firstly, I used Natasha as a name yesterday, my dear Leonid, and secondly, who would have the stupid idea of manipulating a room door so that it cannot be opened from the inside?"
Without answering, he grabbed Olga by the hand and pulled her past Johann back into his room. Johann tried to say goodbye with a friendly smile, "Have a nice day, I wish you!"
The door on Shakhlikov's side slammed shut, "You mustn't tell anyone who you saw in here!"
Olga grinned broadly, "I won't. And the next time I come by your place, I won't enter the next room either."
With these words she deftly freed her hand from Shakhlikov's grip and headed towards the door. "That was a one-time thing. There won't be a next time. I told you that from the beginning."
Olga turned around once more, "That, my boy, is for me to decide! On your bedside table is my number. Call me next week!"
