We have a very close-knit apartment building. We were the first in the complex to install an intercom, renovate the staircase, and, to everyone’s envy, place pots of houseplants on the windowsills.
Who organized all this? Me and Lydia Johnson from apartment 17! The neighbors respectfully call our duo the “building committee,” but behind our backs (thinking we don’t know), they call us “house spirits.” We’re not offended. After all, “house spirit” comes from the word “home,” and the building and its residents are not strangers to us…
Our somewhat dull life got a bit of a shake-up when a new resident moved into apartment 13 (the one across from mine)—a beautiful, petite blonde. Soon, her arrival became the main topic of conversation in kitchens, on stairwells, and in smoking areas.
— Nobody knows anything about her, — my friend told me when we bumped into each other at the grocery store. — No husband, no kids. She brought a cat with her, though. Probably divorced…
— So young? — I was shocked. The neighbor looked about 25…
— Ha! — my friend scoffed. — Don’t you know how young people live these days? One-two—wedding, then the first fight—and they’re off to get divorced, — she added, rummaging through the tangerine bins.
— We should keep an eye on the newbie, — I said to my friend on the way home. — After all, she’s joined our family… No sooner said than done. I started observing the neighbor. Through the peephole. And what did I see!
— She barely leaves the house. And men come to her place every day! — I shared my findings with my friend. — Yesterday, a stylish young guy visited her, and recently, an older balding man showed up.
Listen, Mary, I’ve been thinking… — Lucy began.
But then the neighbor’s door clanged, and I, dropping the phone, rushed to my observation post. I got there just in time.
— …Then I’ll wait for your call, — the blonde cooed, seeing the bald man out.
She was wearing a short black dress with a deep neckline and sky-high heels. “Hair styled, makeup like war paint… People around here don’t dress like that at home!” I said to myself and left my post.
But before I could finish my tea, a commotion erupted on the landing. “Someone tripped over the paint cans by apartment 5 again. I need to tell them to move those,” I thought, pouring another cup. Observing the neighbor brought new surprises every day. And I generously shared those surprises with my friend:
Yesterday, two handsome guys spent almost three hours at her place. And not ten minutes later, an old man hobbled in. He should be preparing for the graveyard, but he’s ogling young women!
— Mary! I’ve figured it out! You’ve got a… — Mrs. Peterson coughed to pause dramatically, — brothel on your floor!
— What are you talking about?!
— Think about it. An attractive young woman. Doesn’t work anywhere, just hosts men. What are they doing in there? Reading poetry? She’s a sly one, your neighbor, no doubt about it.
And I decided to take action…
— You’ve got so many men hanging around you, — I muttered, standing behind the blonde in the checkout line. — Just the other day, a young guy came by… She didn’t even acknowledge me.
— Maybe your fiancé? — I pressed, as she packed her groceries. Wine, a fancy cake, two boxes of expensive chocolates, bags of mango, avocado, and kiwi—I eyed her purchases.
— Groceries are pricey these days. You must be well-off. Alimony from your husband, or some other income? — I asked her directly, holding back any sarcasm.
The blonde looked at me with undisguised disdain. She was about to respond when her phone rang.
— In half an hour? Yes, come by. I’m at the store now, but I’ll make it, — she promised and hung up.
I got home before her (she hadn’t yet mastered the shortcut through the courtyards) and went out to water the flowers in the hallway. About ten minutes later, two stylishly dressed brunettes and some guy rang her doorbell. “Women too?!” I thought, shocked, and texted my friend about it.
— Mary, are you out of your mind? What’s so surprising about women? Haven’t you heard about the nonsense going on these days? Triangles, quadrangles, and some… swingers or whatever! Total debauchery, — my friend said.
The next day, I had to abandon my “post” to visit the clinic. I left my trusty ally by the peephole in my place. She didn’t let me down. The moment I stepped into my apartment…
— She’s been punished! — Mrs. Johnson declared grandly, like a character from her favorite soap opera. — God sees everything. The blonde tripped over the paint cans and fell down the stairs. Sprained her ankle, busted her forehead, — she reported. — An ambulance came and took our beauty to the hospital.
All evening, I thought about how justice does exist! The way that girl carried on so shamelessly, right under everyone’s noses, and now life has punished her. I won’t say I was thrilled about it. But, I confess, deep down, I felt a certain satisfaction. As I was getting ready for bed, someone rang my doorbell.
— Who’s there at this hour? — I grumbled, shuffling to the hallway.
— Who’s there?!
— Don’t be afraid, I just have a question, — a soft baritone answered from behind the door. I cracked it open slightly, keeping the chain on.
— Who are you here for? — I’d never seen the young brunette in the gray coat before.
— I’m looking for Anna Smith, but it seems she’s not home. I tried calling her home phone and her mobile, but no one’s answering… Do you know where she is?
— What a tragedy! No idea! — I snapped, ready to slam the door in his face.
— Do you know what happened? — he asked, hope in his voice. “Oh, I know what happened. Your Anna Smith fell down the stairs, landed on her backside,” I thought spitefully.
— An accident. They took her to the hospital. Don’t know when she’ll be back! The guy was visibly upset and didn’t try to hide it. “Is he really that desperate?” I wondered, giving him my most sarcastic smirk.
— I see… — the blonde’s client was still reeling. — Nothing to be done… I’ll check back in a week. But where am I going to find a competent auditor so quickly! — he said in frustration.
— What?! An auditor?! — I repeated, but the man was already heading downstairs. So, she’s an auditor, like my daughter-in-law Tanya?! That’s why she works from home! Oh, and it’s true, Tanya stays home with my two-year-old grandson and sometimes takes work home. And I, like a fool, made up all this nonsense… God, what a shame!
The next day, from my kitchen window, I saw a taxi pull up to our building. The driver helped the blonde out, and she, limping, hobbled home. I quickly cut a big slice of homemade pie and rushed to the staircase. The elevator hummed, then stopped, and the doors slid open. The neighbor took a step but froze when she saw me.
— I heard you had an accident. So, uh… I brought a treat—my favorite “Drunk Cherry” pie…
— Thank you, — she said, taken aback. — Please, come in, — she invited, opening her door. — Let’s have tea and chat; we’re neighbors, after all. Anna turned out to be a lovely young woman, and her cat, Eve, was such a sweetheart! When her owner goes to visit her parents in the suburbs for a couple of days, Eve stays with me. And together, we eagerly await the return of the blonde from apartment 13…
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