I drove the car down Broadway all the way to Battery Park. Cynthia had rolled the passenger window down and was smoking, absently staring at the loud world outside. She leaned back in the seat and

Chapter 13

To Pauline again

I

I drove the car down Broadway all the way to Battery Park. Cynthia had rolled the passenger window down and was smoking, absently staring at the loud world outside. She leaned back in the seat and took of her sandals. Her legs were fine and slender, and nice to the touch, too, I could bet. She rolled the window all the way down and stuck a foot out as if we were two college girls rolling along Venice Beach.

“You mind putting the roof down, darling?” She asked.

I pushed the button when we stopped at a red light, and the soft top disappeared in a matter of seconds.

“Thank you.”

“You know, Cindy…”

“Cindy? Shall I call you Danny then?”

“Sure.”

She kissed me on the cheek. “Nice to meet you, Danny!”

“Likewise. Anyway, if you need to talk to somebody now would be the time.” I looked at her, but she just laughed.

“Talk? What’s there to talk about, Danny?” She relished the sound of my name.

I shrugged. “You tell me. How have you been lately?”

Cynthia was silent for a long moment, drawing on her cigarette and letting out smoke. I turned left on Battery Place and then, a little further, left again on Water Street. My plan was to take Bowery, then Park Avenue and take Cynthia all the way home on East 67^th.

I thought we’d dropped the idea of having a talk, when Cynthia answered my question. “How do you think I’ve been? Look at me.”

I took my eyes off the road for a second and checked her out. She looked beaten and sad, which I, of course, didn’t mention. However, my gaze must’ve said it all for me.

“That’s right, Danny.” Cynthia uttered. “And this is how I’ve been… Aw, fucker!” The cigarette burnt her fingers, and she threw the butt away. I heard her weep. “I can’t do this anymore! I just…”

“There, there, Cindy. What is it exactly you can’t do anymore?”

She looked at me with bloodshot eyes. “A little condescension would be nice, you know!”

I considered, then shook my head. “What for?”

“Huh?”

“You can deal with your problems, Cindy, or you can take to drink, but either way – don’t whine. Tell me, what can I do for you?”

“Look at me, Daniel.”

I stopped at a light and tuned to her only to get my face slapped. She shook and then flexed her hand. “That’s better. Let’s do it again!”

I caught her by the wrist this time. “Don’t. Get yourself together!”

Tears stood in her eyes again. “It’s you fault, Daniel… If it wasn’t for you, then… Ah…”

“I’m taking you home, Cindy.”

“Figured…” She wept quietly the rest of the way, until, I guessed, she’d ran out of tears.

I stopped at the curb behind her Pullman limo. Cynthia seemed reluctant to get out of the car for a while.

“Shall I walk you to the door?” I asked, hoping she’d decline. She regarded me with touching adoration and shook her head. I stepped out to open the door for her and help her out.

“How nice of you, Danny.”

We froze there on the sidewalk for a moment, and then I took her in my arms and held until she gave in, resting her cheek on my shoulder.

“You’ll be just fine, Cindy. Take care of yourself.”

She nodded. I kissed her temple and let go. She never turned back on her way to the glass doors of the building. I got back behind the wheel and took off. I got to 5^th Avenue and was thinking of going home when my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dan, it’s Henry. Sorry to bother you again, but there’s been another issue…” I wasn’t a bit surprised. “Barry’s still filming, but there’s Cynthia’s car in the middle of the street. We could call for a tow truck, but you know…” He started apologetically.

“Got it.”

“I mean if it’s not too much trouble, Barry and I would be more that grateful!”

“Be right there.” I clicked off.

And there I was, ten minutes later, killing the engine at the curb along the Park. Henry was there to meet me.

“Thanks for coming, Dan!”

“Sure.” I passed him the keys to my own car. “You’ll have to take her back to The Time then.” I nodded at my Porsche.

He hesitated but took the set with a smile. “I can do that.”

“So, where is it?”

“Right there, the key’s inside.” He gestured at a silver bimmer.

We shook hands and I started towards the car, which stood a couple of inches from a matte black SUV. There were orange cones lying around on the pavement. The car had a magnificent smell inside and seemed to be overall brand new. That must be when the first suspicions crawled into my head, but right then I paid them little attention. As I started the engine, Henry hurried over to me. I buzzed the window down, and he leaned on the door.

“Almost forgot to tell you, Polly says hi!” He winked.

I smiled like an idiot. Again. “Best news ever!”

“That’s the spirit!” He reached into the car and pressed a button on the door. The window rolled up as he walked away.

II

They spent their first week in Paris covering all the regular tourist sights, which were all new and exciting to Stacy even though she’d seen it all so many times in movies. At the end of that first week Cyril Bordeaux packed a suitcase and left for his new home in California. They stayed at the house on Baguette Street for two more days and then decided to travel.

The next couple of weeks they spent driving all over France and all the way to Italy. Lester was behind the wheel of their sky-blue car, as Stacy had never learnt how to drive. They talked a lot, sharing stories, of which Lester had plenty. Stacy chilled in the passenger seat, telling him what she remembered of her days with Daniel. Lester listened carefully and nodded a lot. He enjoyed her stories.

They got back to Baguette Street on the fourth week. On their way they swung by the market to get some food for the evening. Back at the House they each went to their own bedroom to unpack. It took a while – they’d shopped a lot in Monte Carlo and Milan – and in the end Lester was the first to be done with it.

In the evening they gathered in the large dining hall on the ground floor. It used to be the dining hall of the La Rue Baguette restaurant, and now there were half a dozen round tables here and there and a little kitchen along one of the walls. Only one of those tables, however, was set: there was a nice ivory tablecloth, lit candles and two sets of tableware. Stacy came down a little later to find Lester throwing together a dinner. She took a seat and lit a cigarette off one of the candles.

“What’s on the menu?” She asked.

Lester turned and saw she was dressed in a lilac Dior nightdress.

“That dress looks fantastic on you, Stace!”

“Thanks!”

“To answer you question: tonight on the menu is reindeer fillet with cranberry sauce and braised vegetables!” Lester announced.

“Red wine?”

“Naturally.”

“Perfect!”

“It is.” Lester confirmed. He poured some wine and joined her at the table. “Give it ten more minutes.”

They clinked glasses and drank.

“You got a nice tan, Stace.” He remarked. Over the weeks he’d grown quite comfortable around her, no longer felt like a little boy. It seemed like he’d grown on her, too: most of the time she was relaxed and open.

“Thanks, so have you. It’s been a wonder, these time we spent.”

“So it was. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” There was a pause while he poured some more wine. “Feel like going back yet?”

She drank. “Not really. I’d love to stay here forever and to hell with work and…”

“Daniel?”

“What?” She smirked. “Danny? No way! I mean, yeah, to hell with him…”

A hint of smile appeared on Lester’s lips. He drank it away and said. “Do I hear a but?”

She shrugged. “I feel... Out of place here, you know? It was a perfect holiday, but holidays have to end, right? Otherwise they wouldn’t feel like holidays at all.” She breathed out smoke.

“Welcome to my world…” He held a cigarette over a candle. “I know what you’re saying though. We do need to get back, I guess…” The oven timer went off, and Lester smiled pleasantly. “But not tonight!”

He went over and got the fillets out of the oven, then put them on the plates along with the vegetables. They ate with gusto and found it, as Stacy put it, fucking delicious.

“Couldn’t agree more!” Lester said. “The reindeer meat has a funny scent, but it is indeed fucking delicious.”

Stacy was too busy finishing her veggies to comment further. She washed it down with the last bits of wine and asked Lester to open another bottle. He saw she was a bit tipsy at that point, but thought she wanted to relax and popped another bottle of red.

“Thank you so much, Les, it was wonderful!”

He just smiled and cleared the table. “Ice cream?”

“Do we have strawberry?”

“I’m pretty sure we have all of it!”

“Then that’s what I’ll have!” She laughed, and Lester brought a whole bucket of ice cream over to the table along with two teaspoons.

Afterwards, even though they were both full and considerably drunk, they took another bottle up to the second floor of the house. There was a fireplace in the common living room, and Lester was quick to start it. They popped the bottle open and got comfortable in the lush sofa.

Stacy lifted her glass. “To Paris?”

“To entire Europe!”

They clinked and drank and then drank some more and talked.

“So.” Stacy asked when the darkness seized the world outside. “I was meaning to ask you all this time…”

“Yeah?”

“You know…”

“You were meaning to ask about me being gay.”

She blushed and smiled. “Ultimately, yes, but…”

“Oh. What is it then?”

“All this time or, rather, some of all this time, have you been hitting on me? With the flowers and the dresses and Paris and Milan?”

He considered it and then said. “No. I don’t think I was hitting on you. I mean, you are incredibly beautiful, and I am indeed fascinated… but hitting on you? No, not really.”

She wilted. “Is there at least a chance?” She looked at him with a clumsy expression of seduction. She was beyond tipsy now, and he thought she was about to do something very stupid. But then again, he was well beyond tipsy himself.

“Look, if you feel you owe me – forget about it…”

“I don’t owe you shit, Lester!” She giggled. “Now shush and help me get out of this dress!”

He did help her, and she did get right out of it…

III

The next morning Lester showered for a long half an hour, thinking over the previous night, reliving it in his head. God, what a night…

He dressed lightly and went downstairs to make some coffee. He drank it at the set table and waited for Stacy to come down, checking his watch every five minutes. Finally, he grew tired of waiting and went up to knock at her door.

“Coming!” She called, and a minute later the door opened. “Morning, Les.”

“I made coffee. Shall we?”

She held his elbow and they marched down the stairs.

“Listen, about last night…” He began, but was cut off.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But I do!” He stopped in the ground floor hallway and held her by the shoulders. “I do find you extraordinarily beautiful and I am deeply fascinated with you!”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t you get it? It is okay!” She cupped his cheeks and kissed him tenderly on the lips. “And then, I gave it a shot, right?”

“And what a shot that was!” He agreed.

She kissed him again. “Don’t you worry, Les.”

They neared the table, where her coffee stood cold and alone.

“You know what? Why don’t we go grab breakfast at that place where you met with Cyril? I liked the sight of it.”

“Absolutely! You all set?”

She nodded and they stepped out of the house on Baguette Street. The walk to the café was short: they turned left and after cutting through a small park crossed a narrow road. The same waitress as three weeks earlier greeted them now.

“Good morning, Stacy and Lester!” She said in her best English and smiled radiantly.

“Morning, Margot.” They both replied in unison. They’d remembered each other’s names during their first week here in Paris. They celebrated Lester’s birthday then and got acquainted with most of the staff at the café.

They ordered light breakfast and white wine with ice – it was the beginning of a hot summer – and simply enjoyed the serene morning.

Stacy’s phone rang as Margot delivered their order. She checked the screen and let out an annoyed sigh.

“Is it Daniel?” Lester assumed.

“Yep.”

“Answer it.”

“Why?”

“Well, he hasn’t called you in almost a month now, maybe it’s something important.”

“Not interested.” She was about to decline the call, but Lester stopped her.

“Let me take it then.” He cocked his head.

“Knock yourself out!”

She passed him the phone and he answered excitedly.

“Daniel?”

There was a pause.

“Um, Lester?”

“Yeah, Stacy’s not around… What’s up?”

“Ah, maybe it’s best that you picked up, I couldn’t get ahold of you. Anyway, how do I put it…”

“What happened?”

“Maybe it’s nothing, and I’m probably overreacting…”

“Just say it, for crysake!”

“Okay! But let me ask you this first: how much did Cynthia get out of the deal you’ve made?”

“A lot, I should think. Why?”

“She’s been acting strange lately, you know. Drinking, crashing the movie sets…”

“So?” Lester smirked. “Nothing weird about that, given what’s happened to Max and Gabriel. Is that all?”

“She bought a new car recently, and I bet there’s more.”

“What is it that you want from me exactly?”

Silence. Then. “Dunno, who else would I call?”

“Not me, that’s for sure. Listen, if it makes you feel better, I can call Arthur and ask him to check on Cindy’s financials. Not that I find it appropriate or the least bit useful.”

“I wouldn’t mind, Les. Thanks.”

“No problem. How are you?”

“A lot has been happening actually! I’ll tell you all about it when you get back, okay?”

“Sure, yeah.”

“Say hi to Stacy for me.”

“I will.”

Daniel clicked off, and Lester returned the phone to its rightful owner. He wasn’t going to call Arthur Buksly, of course – who cared about Cindy anyway? Not Lester. He dug into his food.

“That was a rather dry talk.” Stacy remarked. “What’s up?”

“Cindy Silk is acting out, nothing new under the sun… Looks like she’s been spending shopping a lot lately.”

“And Danny wants you to deal with it?”

“Apparently.”

“Will you?”

He finished the food and lit a cig. “I don’t know, maybe, maybe not.”

“You should. I thought you really wanted to see that movie of his …”

“Still do.”

Stacy shrugged. “I don’t know how it works exactly, but if Cynthia Silk spends too much money, wouldn’t it…”

“You are damn right!” He saluted her with his glass.

“Eureka!” She replied.

They drank while Lester dialed Arthur’s number. He thought it was finally his cue to make some drastic changes.

IV

I dropped Cindy’s car off at her house on East 67^th and took a walk back to The Time on 49^th and Broadway. On my way I called Lester and asked him to look into Cindy’s expenses. He was reluctant, but I hoped he’d see there was something to my concerns.

I was home half an hour later, happily relaxed on the lonely bed. I thought of Pauline (again), her charm and her beauty and her cunning smart eyes. I imagined she’d be filming another of the numerous Pullman scenes at the Madison Park now. Far as I remembered, there would be a lot to film there. I imagined her, made up all sixties, her gentle hands gloved in white velvet, smoking through a long mouthpiece and… talking? Smiling? Laughing? I wanted it all. I wanted to be there, to see her and to feel her presence. With those thoughts on my mind I drifted off into sleep…

…only to wake up less than an hour later with the same sweet dreams on my mind. It was already dark outside – dark enough for the filming to have been over. I called Henry immediately.

“Hey, Dan, what’s happening?”

“How’s it looking up there? You still filming?”

“Barry is wrapping it up with Polly and that other guy, who plays Houston. Why? Oh, let me guess! Is it Polly? Wanna talk to her?”

I shivered. “No way! But do send her…” I wanted to say my love, and the words weren’t easy to contain. “Tell her I said hi, a’right?”

“I will, Dan, no worries! Oh, and when do you need your car? I might not be able to deliver it myself… maybe I’ll ask around…”

“Like you said, Hen, no worries. I can pick it up later myself.”

“I’ve troubled you enough as it is! Fine, I’ll think of something and call you back. Take care.”

He hung up. I dragged myself into the shower and freshened up. I was hungry, too, so I ordered a sandwich and then took another nap.

Another phone call woke me up an hour or so later. It was Henry again.

“Hey.”

“Danny! Rise and shine! Your beauty is downstairs!”

I swallowed with a funny sound like they do in movies.

“The Porsche, you clot!” He took his time to laugh at my reaction. “Come down and get her!” I heard him continue laughing as he clicked off.

I dressed slowly, though there was still some excitement left from Henry’s little jest. I took the elevator and stepped out into the street lighting a cigarette as I did so. And there she was, my red 91… The cig fell out of my mouth, and I thought I’d faint when I saw Pauline, breathtakingly gorgeous and scarily real, stepping out of the driver’s door not ten feet away. She smiled at me, sending shivers down my spine, and I swallowed again and smiled back. I can only imagine how stupid I looked…

“Evening, Daniel Bruckheimer.” She said. Her voice was an iota louder than whisper and just the right amount of husky after the long day of filming to be tiredly attractive and sexy even.

“You can talk now, Dan!” Henry laughed, stepping out of my car on the passenger side. “I must have misspoken – your beauties are here! Bloody wondrous, isn’t it?” He patted me on the shoulder.

“Good evening, Pauline.” I uttered. “You too, Hen.”

“Remember, friends call me Polly.” She smiled again, momentarily knocking me out of reality.

“Polly it is.” I managed. “Call me Danny then, most people do.” I mustered a smile of my own, and Henry laughed at me again.

“Alright, kids, you have fun now!” He said.

“What about you?” I asked, scared to be left alone with Pauline, but Henry was on his way; I saw his black sedan stop at the curb.

And then – a peculiar sensation – Pauline took my hand. “We’ll be fine, Danny, relax!”

I didn’t. If I’d relaxed I’d surely have fainted.

She said. “Do you know a nice place for us to have dinner at?”

There was a grill house across the road, and that’s where we went. Muffled pop music was blaring inside. A hostess, whom I knew well, met us at the doors and led us to a table in an intimate corner. There were only a couple other people, so I guess we both felt safe and comfortable as ever.

“What’s your poison?” I asked her as she leafed through the menu.

“I trust your judgment.” She smiled without raising her eyes at me.

We ordered, nothing too fancy, and a short while later the waitress brought us a bottle of white. We drank a glass each.

“I’ve read the original script, by the way.” She said.

“They changed it?”

“And not for the best either.” She shook her head. “Too bad they cut you off, I think they could have really used your vision.”

“How so?” I wanted to talk and talk to her, even though the subject of Pullman wasn’t my favorite.

“Well, if you don’t mind me saying, your vision of the events is highly romanticized!”

“Can’t argue with that…”

“So instead, to improve the script, they’ve assembled a bunch of experts plus, drumroll, Cynthia Silk herself. Can you believe it? She wasn’t even born back then! So, anyway, the result is rather boring…”

“Well, life is rarely as romantic as we picture it…”

“But that’s up to us, isn’t it?” She asked.

I smiled. “Which reminds me! Just a minute.”

I stood up and walked to the doors. The hostess looked at me a little concerned, but my smile seemed to have calmed her down. I turned right on the sidewalk and walked to the corner of 49^th Street and 8^th Avenue, where I knew an old lady (her name might have been Doris or Dorcia or something) sold flowers. I exchanged sixteen bucks for a humble bouquet and started back.

“These are for you, Polly.” I gave her the flowers, and her eyes lit.

“Thank you, they’re beautiful!”

“You’re beautiful.”

She smiled and blushed a little. A waitress was there to put the flowers in a vase while we got back to our wine.

“So, where were we?” I asked.

“Romance in real life.” She announced the challenge. “Flowers are a check. What’s next?” She smiled cunningly.

I had an idea. We still had a couple of minutes before the food arrived, so I called for the waitress and whispered in her ear.

“Tell me, Polly, do you dance?”

“I foxtrot a bit…”

“Great! And I waltz, so we’ll work something out!”

The funky music stopped just then, and after a minute of complete silence a different song came on – Sinatra’s Strangers In The Night.

“Shall we dance?” I stood up, and Pauline grabbed my hand.

We stepped away from the tables to the open space in the middle of the room. The music was not too loud and just perfect - as was Pauline. I put my left hand on her waist, and she put her left in my right. I led. It wasn’t quite foxtrot, of course, nor was it waltz, but we danced around what space there was and it felt…

“Divine.” She said.

We danced in fabulous harmony, never once stumbling, and as we grew more and more comfortable, Pauline got closer and closer to me, until her chest was tight against mine. Her earing was swinging half an inch from my chin, and I could sense her perfume; it was intoxicating.

“Divine indeed.” I whispered in her ear.

As the song was fading away, we found ourselves no longer dancing, but rather wobbling in pleasant rhythm; my arms were around her waist, and hers were around my neck.

“You hungry yet?” I asked.

“Starving!”

“Let’s go then.”

I led her back to the table, and the food arrived soon after that, and we ate eagerly. Afterwards I ordered a coffee, and Pauline got some tea. We sat talking for at least two more hours, telling each other all there was to tell. We talked about books and movies a lot; she told me about her youth in France, and I told her about mine in Sacramento, California. I’ll never forget that evening.

It was way past midnight when we finally stepped out of the restaurant into the stuffy stinky street - Midtown in the summer usually had that quality.

“God, the smell!” Pauline uttered and dug her nose into my shoulder. I held her tight until she raised her radiant eyes to look into mine.

“Thank you for the evening, Danny, it was very nice.”

“It was.”

She turned around and checked out The Time Hotel. I felt her hand on my chest; I could also feel my heart racing. She turned abruptly and laughed. “Easy there, you’ll get a heart attack! Call me a cab?”

I breathed deeply and stuck out my hand; a yellow Toyota stopped at the curb.

“Where to?” I asked Pauline.

“Waldorf Astoria.” She sighed.

“The one with all the Cadillacs out front?”

“That’s the one.” She looked once more into my eyes. “Thank you again, Daniel.”

As she kissed me, I closed my eyes and wished for the moment to never end. When I opened them again, the yellow cab was speeding away.

V

The skinny kid with the oversized glasses made yet more coffee and offered a cup to Henry. He was chilling in Barry’s armchair set in one of the company’s buses, listening to the beeping of equipment. The kid put on his headphones and sat in the director’s chair to watch one of the monitors. The filming set was somewhere over the Lincoln Tunnel, and outside they were filming a scene at a tow-away parking lot, where the wrecked Pullman limo was resting and Vincent Houston was trying to get it back…

Henry was waiting for Barry Ben to finish filming, but that was taking forever. The bus phone rang at some point, and the kid took off the headphones and picked up. He sprung to his feet and started pacing the bus.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Buksly, Barold is at the sight now and he won’t…” Henry heard Mr. Buksly buzz angrily on the other end. The kid turned red. “Yes, Mr. Buksly, I will. Yes. Sorry, Mr. Buksly!” The call ended abruptly. The kid inhaled deeply and sighed.

“What’s up?” Henry asked him.

“Ah, it’s Arthur Buksly, he wants to talk to Barry Ben.”

“So?”

The kid looked at him quizzically. “You know Barry’s process, he’d kill me if I dared to distract him…”

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Jim.”

“Jimmy, two things: first, pass me that phone.” Jim did. “Now, to let you in on a little secret: Barold loves it when people stand up to him!” The kid nodded weakly. “Let me handle this one, Jimmy.”

“Okay… thanks!”

“No sweat.”

Henry stepped out of the bus into the damp street and lit a cigarette. He saw cameras were rolling a hundred feet away; the crew was all out there, doing each his bidding. Barry Ben was there, as usual, behind one of the leading cameras. Henry walked over to him, careful not to interrupt his process, and said. “Mr. Buksly for you; urgent.” He stepped away.

Twenty minutes later they were finally done filming, and Barry Ben jumped off his stool and came over to Henry.

“Who was it again?”

“One Mr. Buksly, and he said it was urgent, scared the hell out of Jimmy!”

“He does that sometimes. Arthur Buksly’s the chair of Silk Pics. Okay, let’s hear him.”

He took the phone from Henry and redialed the last number. When Arthur Buksly picked up, he started walking around aimlessly. A minute into the conversation Barry’s eyes widened, and his face went pale.

“How fucking much? But how is that even possible?” He cried into the phone. “What are you saying? No, no, that can’t be. No! No, you listen! I’ve signed the estimate myself, as have you and goddamnhertohell Cindy Silk!” There was more buzzing that even Henry could hear. In a minute Barry calmed down and said. “Okay, what’s next?” There was another pause. “Warner? Oh, I see. I’ll try, yeah. Thanks for the heads up.”

He handed the phone back to Henry. “You got a cig?”

They both lit and smoked in silence. Barry smoked through three cigarettes in fifteen minutes.

“So.” Henry said. “What’s this all about?”

“Fucking Cindy Silk…”

“I’ll have to pass.” That managed to get a laugh from Barry. “But seriously, what is it?”

“We had forty million bucks for this movie, Henry, plus another ten or so for marketing an’ all, which was more than enough actually…” He shook his head. “It’s a clusterfuck, Henry! Arty told me she bought herself a villa in Florida two weeks ago and that car she almost crashed…” He shook his head again.

“So, how much has she… spent?”

“ Stolen would be the proper term. And who’s to say? The villa alone cost fifteen million…”

“Shit…”

“Yeah, shit.” Barry confirmed.

“So what are they going to do about it?”

“They? I don’t know, Henry, but it doesn’t look good. Not good at all. There are no investors left, that’s one problem! Nobody wants to deal with this train wreck of a movie company! And now there’s no money for its last movie either! How ridiculous is that?” Barry laughed nervously. ”Chances are Silk Pics is gonna be sold for a couple of bucks at a street corner… Unless Warner steps in. Again! Fuck if I know why he’d ever do that…”

Henry thought hard for a couple of minutes. He’d made most of his fortune in investment, and he knew an opportunity when he saw one – an opportunity not only to make some money but also to become a part of Warner’s venture.

He said. “So it’s my understanding that you’re about twenty million short on your budget?”

Barry Ben nodded ruefully. “Gotta be around that, yeah. Why?”

He smiled. “I believe Meath Solutions may have exactly that amount to offer! What do you say?”

Barry lit up. “Let me see that phone again?”

Дата добавления: 2015-09-29