Culture Shock (13 page)

Alex wanted to kick Mike in the ass. If his wife could only see him now, she'd give him more than a card.

"Oh, darn. I notice you have a great big
ol' wedding ring on your finger." Reverting back to his southern-belle accent, Alex gave his partner a gentle reminder, enjoying the opportunity to take the wind out of Mike's sails.

Alex returned his gaze to Cynthia. It was her turn. She deserved something for buying such crappy shoes.

"You know, Officer, I'm sure this was all my fault. If I'd just listened to my friend and had my deadbolt fixed this wouldn't have happened." He purposely emphasized key words.

If looks could kill, he would have dropped on the spot. He'd pushed things a little too far.

Her jaw visibly tightened. "Sounds like you have a very intelligent friend. You'd better listen and take care of that right away."

Now he'd cooked his own goose. He'd had his fun but Cynthia was going to be pissed when she got off duty, and he'd have to hear all about it.

***

As Cynthia and Mike walked out the door, Mike bumped into the building super and almost bowled him over. He grabbed the handyman's arm and kept him upright. "Wow, excuse me, sir. I didn't see you."

The super's eyes turned wide and he stiffened. "It's okay," he mumbled. "No harm. I was just making a service call down the hall." He hurried away.

Cynthia turned to her partner. "Service call? Right! I live in this building and believe me, there is no service."

She wanted to slap herself for revealing too much.

"Where you live is no secret. Your address is on file, remember?" He scanned the corridor walls and the outdated tiles on the floor. It's not the Ritz is it?" Mike smiled.

"Far from it."

"Do tell…what apartment does your little filly live in? If she's better looking than the babe we just left, I
wanna see her."

Cynthia steered Mike toward the stairs. "Never you mind. We're done here."

Chapter Nine

The annoying alarm sounded. Alex awoke with a terrible stomachache. Not the start to the day he had hoped for since he spent all evening helping Cynthia clean up the mess from the break-in and listening to her berate his actions. Hopefully, the crime had been the act of a random burglar. He'd worried all night it might have been more, but his concern at the moment was this awful pain. He grasped his belly as the aching intensified.

Forcing himself out of bed, he stumbled to the bathroom. When he used the toilet tissue, a crimson stain caught his attention. "Oh, my God, what's wrong?"

Despite his heart climbing into his throat, he managed to draw in a deep breath. The cause of the blood dawned on him, he was having a period. "Oh for Christ's sake, I don't believe this." He looked upward. "Why do you hate me?"

Luckily, he wasn't totally ignorant. After all, he'd lived with a woman before, and there was absolutely nothing that wasn't advertised on TV these days. Nothing was sacred. How many times had he been forced to watch tampon commercials and other feminine hygiene products?

Rummaging under the sink, he searched for whatever it was Cynthia used during her monthly. He found the very item he'd seen advertised so often. Pulling a cylinder from the box, he grimaced and began reading the instructions on the back of the carton.

He squinted at the small print. "Warning: Do not insert cardboard cylinder." That seemed rather obvious to him, but then hairdryers came with warnings not to use them in the bathtub or shower. Obviously there were some ignorant people in the world.

But ... what the hell did he do with the string? He dangled the tampon in the air and studied it for a moment, then following the diagram, he propped one foot on the closed toilet lid, but hesitated. "I can't do this." How did a woman…especially one with long talons?

Reality gave him a stern reminder. Using the tampon was a necessary evil given his situation. With clenched teeth and squinted eyes, he probed for an opening and inserted the cotton torpedo, leaving the string dangling for removal.  A queasy feeling seized him, and he plopped down on the commode. This was the last time he was going through this torture. He had to find a way to get back into his own skin and the comfort he missed so much.

***

Cynthia stopped by on her way to work and found Alex, still clad in a bathrobe and, curled in a fetal position on the couch. She arched a brow at him. "Why aren't you ready to go?"

He glared up at her. "You started your period. My stomach is killing me."

"Oh, is that all?" She clucked her tongue against her teeth. "It's called cramps. Now you know what it feels like. Get up and get dressed."

He adjusted his position and closed his eyes. "I'd prefer not to. I think I'm dying."

She bent over and shoved her face close to his. "No one ever died of cramps. Get up!"

"I can't," he whined.

"You're pathetic!" She straightened and shook her head. "Good thing you aren't pregnant. I've always heard that if men were the child bearers, every family would only have one. I don't think you'd live through the first birth. I never realized what a wimp you are."

He raised his head. "I am not a wimp."

"Then get up!" she insisted. "I haven't missed a day of work yet."

"Impossible, I hurt. Why can't you understand? I'm not used to this kind of pain."

"Oh, for heaven's sake." She raised her hands. "If you aren't going, then you have to call in sick, and I hope you're very happy making me look bad."

Alex, looking most pathetic because of his bed
head, struggled upright, still clenching his stomach. "Being absent one day won't make a difference. Besides, I don't do anything there anyhow."

"The phone number is in my address book." She spoke through clenched teeth. "You'd better tell them you'll be there tomorrow, or else..."

"Or else what?"

"I…I…I'll show up in your locker room wearing a thong."

"Humph!" He curled back into a ball. "Then I'll just have to wear a jock-strap to your office."

"Oh…you…you're…impossible!  There‘s some pills in the medicine cabinet to help with the pain and bloating…take two." She stormed out of the apartment, dreading another long day having to play macho. 

***

Alex took the pills as Cynthia suggested, slept for a while, and woke feeling much better. Wondering how to spend a free day, he decided this would be a good time to call the super and have the deadbolt replaced. He picked up the phone and waited for an answer.

"This is Cynthia
Freitas in Apartment 2E...er...2A. I have a faulty lock on my door. I bought a new one and need it installed right away. Yes, it's the deadbolt. If you could come today that would be very helpful since I'm usually at work. Yes, I'll be home all afternoon. Thank you."

He hung up, smiling at reaching a live body instead of a recording. Hearing the super say he would respond within the hour was a rare event indeed. Alex imagined the call going out for snowplows in Hell and his smile broadened--especially when he pictured the Devil behind the wheel of one.

Staying home worked out fine for Alex. Maybe surprising Cynthia with a newly-installed deadbolt would lessen her anger at him. Yes, he wasn't doing the actual repair, but he still took care of the problem.

He sat and picked up yesterday's newspaper and scanned the headlines. His hands fisted along the edges of the tabloid. He wanted to be at his own job, doing something productive to help solve the crime. Poor Cynthia surely felt the same. He hoped she could continue to pull off the charade
for both their sakes. He grimaced as he caught sight of the feminine hand turning the pages.  How could this have happened and how in the hell did he fix it?

Tossing the paper aside, he switched on the TV and surfed for something interesting to keep him from feeling so helpless. He found an old Gary Cooper movie and settled down to watch. His mind drifted to his refrigerator full of beer, and his mouth watered. But, what if someone saw him going into his apartment as Cynthia? Drinking had become a bad and growing off-duty habit. Although his predicament didn't provide the perfect opportunity for quitting, he couldn't picture the body he owned at the moment swigging down a six-pack.

Someone knocked on the door.

Alex crossed to the door and paused before opening it. Funny, being a woman made him feel more guarded, especially given the circumstances. "Who is it?" he asked.

"The super." The voice boomed deep and loud.

Alex adjusted his frilly bathrobe and opened the door. "Come in. Glad you could find time."

"Humph." The unshaven man brushed past him and set his tool chest on the floor. With eyes of stone, he stared at Alex. "You gonna move or what?"

Alex stepped out of the way. "Oh, I'm sorry."

The man's presence made Alex's short hairs stand on end, although he didn't know why. Maybe because he dealt with seedy looking criminals and lacked the trust he once had.

The super knelt before the door and removed the faulty lock.

"I'll bet this building keeps you busy." Alex attempted to make small talk as he handed the new lock to the man.

"Yeah."

"Do you know if the owners plan to update the electrical wiring anytime soon?"

"Nope."

"No, you don't know, or ... no, they aren't going to."

"Don't know."

"My, you're a man of few words, aren't you?" At no response, Alex felt like a spare leg and backed off. "Okay…well then I'll just leave you to your work."

He stole a glance into the man's tool chest. Inside, a wide assortment of screw drivers, wrenches, rolls of wire, locks, switches, and a very large roll of electrical wire were assembled in a tidy collection. Given the horrid condition of The Cairns, management probably bought materials by the truckload.

Still trying to use his interrogative skills, Alex stepped over to the tools and picked up the roll of electrical tape. "Boy, bet you use a lot of this stuff."

The super cast a piercing glare at him then wordlessly continued with his work.

Realizing there was no use in trying to engage the weirdo, Alex dropped the tape back in place. He returned to his seat, and the Gary Cooper movie still showing on TV, but shot an occasional uneasy glance at the super. Something about the man niggled at Alex. He just couldn't figure out what it was.

"Hey, lady," the super's voice barked. "Do me a favor, would
ya? I don't wanna let go of the mechanism, so get me a smaller screwdriver."

Sure, wait until the movie got interesting and then decide to talk. Alex rose and searched through the tools, his attention equally divided between the screen and the metal box. Gary Cooper, boots thudding on the wooden walkway, strode out onto the dusty western street at high noon.

Alex gritted his teeth at being pulled away at the most pivotal moment. He seized the right-sized driver and, half sitting, half standing tossed it. "Here, catch." His gaze returned to the screen.

The sound of a yelp and screws scattering on the tile floor drew his attention. The super massaged his bicep and pointed to the screwdriver on the ground a few inches away. "You crazy or something?" His eyes turned beadier, his scowl marks deepened.

Alex covered his mouth. "Gee, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you."

The super raised his sleeve and inspected his arm. An angry red blotch marred the middle of a huge tattoo of a Viking holding a beer stein. "Not very smart throwing a screwdriver," he growled. "It
coulda been my eye."

"I'm really sorry." Alex didn't like the man, but he didn't intend to injure him.

Mumbling obscenities, the super crawled around on the floor searching for the screws. He found them, finished up his work, then tested the lock. After picking up his toolbox, he left without a word.

Alex went to the door and checked the new installation. It locked perfectly, although dirty handprints marred the door jamb. If Cynthia came home to that, she'd be on the warpath. While Alex cleaned up the mess, he shook his head, thinking about the super. The man definitely needed to hone his social skills, but that couldn't be the thing that ate at Alex. There was something else; he just couldn't nail it down.

Chapter
Ten

Cynthia, still angry over Alex missing work, tugged open his locker. She couldn't believe he'd succumbed to cramps. She'd had them for years. They were uncomfortable, but not intolerable. He acted like a baby and she wasn't going to let him forget it. Arguing had almost made her late for his job.

By the time she arrived, the locker-room had been almost deserted, and she didn't have to contend with the usual sexist remarks she often overheard. She always wondered what men talked about amongst themselves, and now she knew. It wasn't pretty. They had a way of making something sexual out of even the most innocent of subjects. Pigs…men were truly pigs. She finished donning his uniform and hurried off to roll call.