Culture Shock (15 page)

A can fell out of the trash bag and clattered down the stairs. Alex took a deep breath. Shit! With ears as big as Carpenter's he was bound to hear it. Much to Alex's chagrin, Thomas rounded the corner, holding the wayward tin in his hand.

As he ogled Alex from head to toe, appreciating Cynthia's ample curves far too much in Alex's opinion, a broad smile spanned his pock-marked face. "Well, Ms. Freitas. How lucky of me to run into you. I don't suppose I'd be fortunate enough to find you've broken up with your boyfriend?" His wink made Alex want to gag.

Alex walked down to the landing and took the can from him. "Hello, Thomas." His annoyance punctuated his greeting. "Thanks for picking up my refuse, and no, I'm still with my boyfriend. Sorry."

Thomas caressed Alex's arm. "Well, that doesn't mean that we can't be friends."

The hairs on the back of Alex's neck bristled and he yanked his arm away. His first inclination was the punch the bastard, but that didn't quite seem ladylike. Couldn't the asshole get a clue? "You'll have to excuse me." Alex maintained decorum that would make Cynthia proud. "I have to get this out to the dumpster. I have a...a...a cake in the oven."

A look of disappointment crossed Thomas' face. "Well, maybe another time, then."

"Sure, sure." When hell freezes over. Alex brushed by him and out into the alley. The man gave new meaning to the word 'letch'.

Alex's was huffing when he walked back into Cynthia's apartment. One flight of stairs left him breathless. Who was out of shape? Him or her?

The phone rang.

"Alex, I just thought you would like to know we finally got to talk to the victim." Cyn sounded excited.

He attempted to slow his breathing with a loud exhalation. "What did she say? Any new leads?"

"Have you been running?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just jogged around the block in your slippers. So, tell me..."

"Stop being such a smarty pants, and I will."

"Sorry." He should know better than to throw sarcasm back at her. She gave better than she got.

She cleared her throat. "Her information is pretty sketchy...nothing definite. She didn't see his face because he was behind her, but when he clamped his hand over her mouth, she did manage to see a large tattoo on his left arm."

"What kind?"

"She couldn't recall. She just said it was large and covered most of the upper part. She didn't see it until during the struggle when she pushed up his sleeve."

Alex held the phone in one hand and stroked his chin with the other. He noted the absent
stubble  he never thought he'd miss. Damn, instead of running around in fuzzy slippers and fending off sexual advances, he needed to be the one working on this case.

"Are you still there?" she asked.

"Yes, just thinking. Hang around there a little longer. Maybe she'll remember something more."

"Okay, but only for another hour or so. Mike’s gone back to station and as soon as he comes back for me, I’m coming home.  It’s been a very long day.”

"No doubt, and these types of cases can be draining emotionally. I'll see you soon."

Annoyed, he plopped on the sofa and hung his head in his hands. "Damn! How in the hell can I expect her to handle something when she isn't experienced enough? I don't even know how to coach her." He raised his head and eyed the door. "Shit, I need a beer."

Instead of succumbing to his cravings, he turned on the TV, leaned back and put his feet on the coffee table. While he flipped channels, his mind wandered back to the case. A tattoo wasn't much to go on. Millions of men had them. At once, the proverbial light bulb clicked on above his head. He slammed his feet to the floor and sat upright. "Tattoo!"

***

Cynthia turned her key but the door still wouldn't open. She took a step backwards and made sure of the apartment number, then heaved a sigh. Alex must have fixed the deadbolt. She tried her key again, but still no luck.

She rapped on the door. Receiving no response, she balled her fist and pounded. Far too tired, all she wanted to do was sit down and relax.

The strange sensation of being watched crept over her. She glanced up and down the hallway, but saw no one. This whole body switch had her paranoid for so many reasons.

Alex opened the door, zipping her favorite pair of slacks. Before she could reprimand him, he quickly disappeared into the bedroom.

She assessed the condition of her apartment. Her immediate response was disgust and appall. He'd left an assortment of debris strewn about the counter and coffee table. The man was a slob no matter which body he was in. She straightened the scattered newspapers and picked up dirty dishes.

The toilet flushed in the other room and the kitchen pipes creaked in response.

She grimaced. He'd probably left another mess in the bathroom.

Alex re-entered the room with a crooked grin on his face. "Whew! You caught me on the pot. Almost forgot to flush."

She screwed her mouth to the side to keep from exploding. He had no class at all. God, what if he acted this way at her office? No doubt it was already a pig sty. She released a pent up breath. "Never

mind that," she snapped. "What are you doing in my good pants? Those are not to wear around the house, especially when you're a slob." She held up a dirty plate and nodded to an empty soda can.

"I was
gonna clean that up before you came home, but you beat me to it." He displayed a sheepish grin.

"The pants?"

He glanced down. "How am I supposed to know what to pick out of your closet? Pants are pants to me. I needed to put something on to empty the trash."

"You wore my good pants to empty the trash? Well, just take them off and put on something else. I have plenty of jeans in there. Gee
z, Alex, am I going to have to lay out my clothes for you every day?"

His anger turned her lip line almost invisible. "Look, lady, and I use the term loosely, I'm the one who's supposed to have PMS since I'm using your body and hormones right now, but you're doing a pretty good impression. For God's sake, they're only a pair of pants. Chill out!"

Cynthia sighed, and crossing to the trash can, stuffed the used newspaper inside. She sagged onto the couch and splayed thick fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry. This is just too much for me to handle. Seeing that woman half dead and having to make her re-live her horrible ordeal is hard on me. I can imagine what it must do to her."

Alex sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulder. "I know."

She gazed down at him. "This is so weird. I hear my own voice, see my own face staring at me, and feel like I want to cry, but can't. I don't think I can do this much longer, Alex."

He stifled a chuckle. "Sorry. I didn't mean to laugh, but you have to admit this ordeal is funny in some ways. A short time ago I looked forward to getting into your pants, and now that I did, your only fear is that I'll spill something on '
em."

She pushed him away. "Oh...you...you may look like a woman, but you still think like a man."

"And manly speaking, I sure could use a beer. Do you think the neighbors have seen you come in here often enough that they wouldn't think it scandalous if I went and fetched a few from my fridge?"

"Beer? Is that all you can think about right now?"

"No, trust me I think about other things, but I focus better after a beer or two."

"You have no idea how it pains me to hear those words coming from my own lips. Do you have any idea how many calories are in each can or bottle? I suppose I should be thankful you've retained some of your gentlemanly ways."

"Gentleman, huh?" he chuffed. "You're probably safer now than you've ever been.  Even if I wanted to take advantage of you, I don't have the necessary equipment." He pulled her close and gazed up at her. "I'm sure this is a strange picture. I'm used to being the taller, thicker one."

Resting her head atop his, she laughed at the reality of his comment
and at their entire situation.  It was either find the humor or collapse into tears, and she doubted she could muster up the energy to cry.

Alex leaned away just as she started to relax. "Tell me again about that tattoo."

Her brow furrowed. "Well, that's a switch. How did we get from the topic of us back to a tattoo?"

"I just thought of something that might be important."

She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You mentioned that the victim said her assailant had a large tattoo on his upper left arm. Coincidentally, the super was here today to fix your lock, and he has one on that same arm.…"

"You don't suppose…."

"Thousands of men have tattoos, but it seems strange you called and told me about one right after he'd been here." He shook his head and sighed. "Don't mind me; the coincidence probably doesn't mean anything. I'm suspicious by nature, and if you have to work this job very long it'll become commonplace for you, too."

"I don't need anything else to worry about, thank you! I'm still wondering how we're going to get out of this crazy predicament. Have you given it any more thought?"

"How could I not? I don't like sitting to pee, I don't like having cramps, and I sure don't like being flirted with by that creep, Thomas Carpenter. A fix is pretty much all I think about and I'm still as clueless as ever when it comes to a solution."

"What if we have to stay this way forever?" Tears welled in her eyes.

"Well, the good news is at least we live in the same building, and so far no one has detected anything out of the ordinary. At least, I think no one has."

"What's so good about that?"

"I 'm just trying to find a straw to grasp. Don't be a killjoy. And...I hope you don't get all teary-eyed at work.  Do you?"

"Give me a little credit, will you?"

So far she'd dealt with her emotions well while faking her sexuality at his job. But then nothing really upsetting had happened so far. She refused to make promises she might not be able to keep.

***

He
stood outside her door, trying not to be conspicuous, yet standing close enough to hear what they said. Catching a word here and there didn't satisfy his curiosity, and his fisted hands sunk his nails into the tender skin of his palms. Did they never separate? The perfect opportunity to end her reign of terror over the poor unsuspecting sap depended on surprise. He hoped to confront her during her visit to the garbage can today, but that hadn't worked out. At the sound of someone coming upstairs, he drifted down the hallway and slunk into the darkness. Maybe tomorrow.

His heart hammered at the thought of watching her turn blue.

***

Cynthia handed Alex a clean plate. "Careful, it's slippery," she added, not really trusting him with her china.

"Maybe I should wash from now on," He remarked while he dried the dish. "I don't want the guys noticing I have 'dishpan hands' and making fun."

"Maybe you should learn to dry first." She eyed the water droplets he'd left on the last dish.

"I'm serious." He picked up the plate and dried it again.

"Or we could just move someplace that has a dishwasher, a Jacuzzi tub and valet parking."

"My, aren't we testy?" He snapped the dishtowel in the air.

"I don't mean to be. I’m tired, and I'm going to bed as soon as we finish here. Which reminds me…I hate your apartment."

"Well, I'm not that used to living in this one either. But what else can we do?

Wouldn't people think it strange to see us coming and going alone from each other's place? I'm not intimating that we're the talk of the town, but you never know."

"I guess you're right." She rinsed the last dish.

"Besides, you need my stuff and I need yours."

"Okay, okay. I got it." She snared the towel, dried her hands and hung the wet cloth on the sink. "I'm going to bed…your bed."

He picked up a key from the counter. "Before you go, here's your new key for the deadbolt."

"Great, now I have two that look identical." She took it and scanned the room.

"What are you looking for?"

"Stupidly enough, my purse. I can't get used to not carrying one." She turned and put her hand on the doorknob. "Good night…and you are going to work tomorrow, right?"

"Would you relax? I'm going. This weekend, we can get the locks re-keyed so you won‘t have to carry two.  I may not be able to fix our big problem, but I feel safe in assuming this I can handle."

***

Alex mentally prepared himself for another day at Cynthia's job while he dressed. The thought of spending eight hours sequestered in an office was not at all appealing when he was used to being out and about. He stood before the bathroom mirror and worked on Cynthia's hair. Who would have imagined how much trouble women went to in the morning? While fighting a stray curl that had a mind of its own, he heard the front door open.