Our apartment building is incredibly tight-knit. We were the first in the neighborhood to install a keyless entry system, we repainted the hallways ourselves, and, to the envy of everyone on the block, we lined the windowsills with lush potted ferns and geraniums.
And who organized all of it? Me and Mrs. Gable from Apt 4B. The neighbors respectfully refer to our duo as the "HOA board," but behind our backs—they think we don't know—they call us "the gargoyles." We don't take offense. After all, a gargoyle protects the cathedral, and this building and its residents are like family to us.
Life was getting a bit predictable until a new tenant moved into Apt 3C, right across from mine: a beautiful, petite blonde. Before long, her arrival became the main topic of conversation in the laundry room, the mail area, and over backyard fences.
"Nobody knows a thing about her," my friend Martha told me when we bumped into each other at the grocery store. "No husband, no kids. Just dragged a cat in with her. Divorced, I bet..."
"That young?" I asked, surprised. The new neighbor looked maybe twenty-five.
"Ha!" Martha snorted, rummaging through a crate of tangerines. "You know how kids are these days. One-two, wedding bells, then the first argument hits and they're running for the lawyers."
"We need to keep an eye on the newcomer," I told Martha on the walk home. "She's part of the flock now, after all." No sooner said than done. I started observing our little neighbor through the peephole. And what I saw!
"She never leaves the house. And men come to see her every single day!" I shared my findings with Martha later. "Yesterday a sharp-looking young man visited, and just a little while ago, some older, balding guy trudged up there."
"Listen, Mary, I've been thinking..." Martha started.
But the neighbor's door creaked, and I hung up the phone, rushing to my observation post. I made it just in time.
"...Then I'll be expecting your call," the blonde cooed, seeing the balding man out.
The girl was wearing a short black dress with a plunging neckline and sky-high stilettos. Her hair was perfectly styled, and her makeup was heavy enough for a photo shoot. "Decent people don't lounge around the house looking like that," I muttered to myself as I stepped away from the door.
Before I could even finish my tea, I heard a crash in the hallway. "Someone tripped over those paint cans by Apt 2A again. I need to tell them to move those," I thought, pouring another cup. My daily surveillance continued to yield surprises, which I generously shared with Martha.
"Yesterday, two handsome guys spent nearly three hours there. And not ten minutes after they left, some old-timer came hobbling up. He looks like he's got one foot in the grave, yet he's still chasing after young blondes!"
"Mary! I've figured it out!" Martha coughed for dramatic effect. "You've got a... house of ill repute on your floor!"
"What are you saying?!"
"Think about it. Attractive young woman. Doesn't seem to have a job, only receives male 'guests.' What do you think they're doing in there? Reading poetry? Your neighbor is running quite the operation."
I decided it was time for a direct approach.
"You certainly have a lot of gentlemen callers," I grunted while standing behind the blonde in the checkout line. "Just the other day, that young man was over..." The neighbor didn't even look at me.
"Is he your fiancé, perhaps?" I pressed as she began bagging her groceries. I eyed her haul: wine, a gourmet cake, two boxes of expensive chocolates, and bags of mangoes, avocados, and kiwis.
"Food's expensive these days. You must be well-off. Alimony, or do you have some other... source of income?" I asked bluntly, dropping the pretense.
The blonde looked at me with pure distaste. She was about to snap back when her phone rang.
"In half an hour? Yes, come on over. I'm at the store now, but I'll be back in time," she promised and hung up.
I made it home before her—she hadn't learned the shortcut through the alley yet—and went out to water the plants in the hallway as a pretext. About ten minutes later, two fashionably dressed women and a young guy rang her bell. "Women too?!" I gasped, immediately calling Martha.
"Are you kidding me, Mary? What does it matter if they're women?" Martha sighed. "Haven't you heard about the nonsense going on today? Triangles, poly-things... it's all just plain indecency."
***
The next day, I had to abandon my post for an appointment at the clinic. I left my loyal partner, Mrs. Gable, on lookout duty. She didn't disappoint. The moment I walked back into my apartment...
"Justice has been served!" Mrs. Gable proclaimed, sounding like a character from one of her soap operas. "Heaven sees everything. The blonde tripped over those paint cans and tumbled down the stairs. Twisted her ankle, bruised her head," she reported. "The paramedics came and took our little starlet to the hospital."
All evening, I sat thinking that there really is justice in the world. That girl had been so brazen, right in front of everyone, and life finally caught up with her. I wouldn't say I was happy about it, but deep down, I felt a certain satisfaction. I was just getting ready for bed when someone knocked.
"Who on earth is it at this hour?" I grumbled, shuffling to the door. "Who's there?!"
"Don't be alarmed, I just have a quick question," a soft baritone replied. I cracked the door open, keeping the security chain firmly engaged.
"Can I help you?" I'd never seen the young man in the grey overcoat before.
"I'm looking for Sarah, but she doesn't seem to be home. I've tried her house phone and her cell, but no answer. Do you know where she might be?"
"Oh, what a tragedy! She's not home!" I cut him off sharply, preparing to slam the door.
"Do you know if something happened?" he asked hopefully. "I'll say! Your precious Sarah fell down the stairs and landed on her backside," I thought spitefully.
"There was an accident. She was taken to the hospital. I have no idea when she'll be back!"
The young man looked genuinely distressed. "Is he really that desperate?" I wondered, giving him my most biting smirk.
"I see..." Sarah's 'client' looked shell-shocked. "Nothing to be done, then. I'll try again in a week. It's just... where am I going to find another qualified auditor on such short notice?" he muttered to himself.
"What?! An auditor?!" I blurted out, but he was already heading down the stairs.
So she's an auditor, like my niece Emily? And that's why she works from home! My goodness, Emily stays home with her toddler and takes on freelance consulting all the time. And here I'd built up this whole... Oh, the shame!
The next morning, I saw a taxi pull up from my kitchen window. The driver helped the blonde out, and she limped toward the entrance. I quickly sliced a large piece of my homemade pound cake and rushed out to the landing. The elevator hummed, stopped, and the doors slid open. The neighbor took a step out, then froze when she saw me.
"I heard you had a bit of an accident. I, uh... brought you a peace offering. My favorite cherry almond cake."
"Oh... thank you," she said, caught off guard. "Actually, why don't you come in? We can have some tea and talk. We are neighbors, after all."
Sarah turned out to be a lovely woman, and her cat, Cleo, is a total sweetheart. Whenever Sarah goes away for a weekend to visit her parents upstate, Cleo stays with me. The two of us sit by the window, eagerly waiting for the girl from Apt 3C to come home.
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