The devil from the fourth floor

Part 1

"What seems terrible today will seem beautiful tomorrow..."

─ Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me! ─ I'm flying into the office, practically tearing down the glass doors, and all my colleagues' attention is on me.

Out of breath, disheveled, red ─ I ran as fast as I could.

This day was not good from the very morning: first the alarm clock didn't work, then the kettle broke and water had to be heated in a pot, then a huge traffic jam and an unreal crowd in the transport, and finally an exam on the history of foreign journalism, where the whole group was simply abused and because of which I was late for work, although I had calculated the time in advance, but didn't take into account that each student would answer for forty minutes instead of the promised five.

─ Ulya, she's furious... ─ Alena whispers to me as I take my seat.

─ When wasn't she wearing it? ─ I make a joke and turn on the computer, trying to regain my breath.

Aphrodite Veniaminovna ─ a woman with a crown that touches the ceiling. The editor-in-chief of the magazine where I work. Hysterical, flighty, egotistical. A mix of hate and anger.

─ You're late! ─ Shows her newly made nose out of the office.

─ I'm late. I'm sorry. ─ I have to finish the article for the new issue, for which I had to climb into a garbage can hiding from the police. ─ I'll get it done.
─ I don't care about your writing! ─ ─ She's wiggling her hips toward my desk. It's the third time you've been late this month, so no bonus!

─ But...

She knows very well that I'm studying at the same time and I warn her every time that I'll be late, and then I work all the hours and stay in the office until the last minute.

─  Shh! I'll fire you! ─ What a disgusting voice. This woman is disgusting. Pick up your skinny ass and go to the hotel "Ellada", a trusted person said that Igor Sapozhnikov himself rented a room for a day! ─ The singer, who is now on the rumor. I want to know why and who he's bringing there!

─ Okay. ─  I sigh, but I agree. I'm not used to going through other people's laundry, that's my job. ─ I'll do it.

─  Of course you will! If you don't learn anything useful by five o'clock, you're fired!

She shakes her shoulders like a peacock spreading its tail. She's a disgusting woman, and I only put up with her because other agencies didn't hire me. Second-year students are interested only in such offices, yellow press, as they say in the people. I need experience. It's a vicious circle: you're too young and uncredentialed to work for the big publishing houses, but when you get your diploma you're told that without experience you're nothing. For students like me, without powerful parents and connections, there is only one thing to do ─ start at the bottom and work your way up. That's what I've been doing here for the past eight months.

I've been everywhere and climbed everywhere trying to get at least something interesting... So I skillfully slipped inside the hotel pretending to be one of the maids, because I know how to lie without blushing and make up ridiculous stories on the fly. A trainee maid ─ sounds!

There is only one way to find out what everyone's favorite singer is doing. Knock and look. Which I do. The door opens and on the threshold is a tall, pumped-up man with only a towel around his hips. Not Shoemaker, not even close.

I go outside and fall on the first bench I see.

─ The informant was wrong. There was a Sapozhnikov in the room, but not the same one, just a namesake. I spoke to Aphrodite Veniaminovna, looking at the people walking in the park on the opposite side of the road.

─ No way! You must be confused again! ─ She yells at me, though I never confuse anything, but her "reliable" informants always do. ─ Stupid, you can't be trusted with anything!