Culture Shock (4 page)

"Sure, why not? Wine has never been my forte, but Emily Post says it's good etiquette to bring a bottle of wine to dinner. So, for the sake of appearances I'll have a glass before we eat." He cocked his head. "During the meal? Maybe afterwards?"

"Then I'm thinking you should have brought more than one bottle," she quipped.

He smiled. "Actually, I can probably only handle one glass. Although a good, cold brew is my drink of choice, tonight I'm making a sacrifice. I'm trying to make a good impression. So...how am I doin' so far?"

Retrieving the only two wine glasses she owned, she glanced over her shoulder as she poured. "You're doing just fine. You picked a wine I like and I have just enough glasses. I'd say you're on a roll."

Cynthia walked over and handed him his wine. "Sit. Please. Make yourself comfortable. But..."

She was just about to warn him when the weakened springs of the dilapidated sofa collapsed under his weight. He sank into the worn cushion, his knees almost level with his eye-brows, his glass raised to keep his wine from spilling. Confusion etched on his face, he looked up at Cynthia. "Should I have sat somewhere else?"

Rather than cry from embarrassment, Cynthia couldn’t get past how funny he looked and collapsed into a fit of giggles. “I’m sorry,” she managed choking on her laughter. “I was just going mention the broken springs. Only two cushions provide any support whatsoever and guess which one you picked? You might want to move."

She took the wine glass from his hand and motioned toward the other end of the couch.

Developing a rocking motion, Alex struggled to his feet and moved to the other end of the sofa. He lowered himself with caution, then took a deep breath. "Well, this is better. I think your couch was built in the same era as mine." He fingered the floral material on the cushion next to him. "But, yours appears to have a little more fabric left."

His joke lightened the moment. She handed his wine back, set hers on the coffee table, then sauntered over to the radio. "I find it hard to believe that your furniture is any worse than mine."

She switched from the radio to CD and popped in a disc. There would be no newsbreaks about kidnapping and murders to disturb their evening. She sat next to him and picked up her glass. Finally, there was something to appreciate about her shabby furniture-his closeness. His aftershave intoxicated her. She leaned a little closer to inhale the spicy fragrance, feeling more comfortable than she ever recalled with a man.

Alex appeared nervous, chewing his bottom lip and fidgeting. Hopefully, not because of her. She considered moving to the chair, but changed her mind. Her shoulders stiffened with tenseness, but without much dating experience, maybe this was how things were supposed to feel.

The silence between them was deafening, but she couldn’t think of a thing to say. Alex tipped his wine glass up and drained it, then put it on the end table. Wiping his hands on his pant legs, he glanced at the stove. "Something smells great. I'm starved."

At least he spoke, but a pang of disappointment jolted through her. Eating was the last thing on her mind. She preferred staying just as they were, with maybe a little more conversation, but clearly he had a different idea.

Leaning across him, she placed her glass on the table next to his. Her attempt to hold back a sigh failed. "Then I guess we should eat."

She went to the table and lit the candles. "I hope you like chicken, macaroni and cheese and green beans. It's what I had handy. I know most men prefer beef, but I don't eat red meat so I never buy it."

He rubbed his hands together. "Sounds like a feast to me. I'm usually on my second bag of nacho chips, and my third beer by now."

***

"Why don't you make yourself comfortable while I clear the table." Cynthia placed the used silverware in the plates and carried them to the counter.

“Are you sure I can't help? I think I remember how to wash or dry."

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I'm just going to dump everything in the sink and handle it later." Forks, spoons and knifes clattered into the basin while she neatly stacked the china atop them.

Alex wandered back over to the safe couch cushion and sat. "Mind if I kick off my shoes?"

Normally, that casual request on a first date would have been shocking, but there was something about him that made it feel natural. Apparently, he had relaxed.

Cynthia looked over her shoulder while giving the stove a quick wipe and scrunched up her nose.  “Did you wash your feet?”  She smiled.

He plopped his sock-clad feet on the coffee table and wriggled his toes. “Sure did. Even changed my socks." He closed one gorgeous eye in a wink.

Who cared if he made himself at home? She brushed aside thoughts that he was acting just a little too casual and recalled growing up with a brother who had smelly feet. She glanced back at Alex again, and that one look wiped away the memory.

Nothing about this man could possibly be unpleasant. Meeting him was like finding a comfortable, missing slipper to match the one you had.

Cynthia rinsed and dried her hands, then hung the dishtowel on the edge of the sink. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"That sounds good. You know…it's funny. When I go out to dinner, which is very rare, I always enjoy a cup of coffee afterwards, but at home, I never make the stuff. Too much trouble for one cup, I guess."

"I know what you mean. There are times I'd love to bake a cake just to have a good smell to cover the musty odor of this old building, but I know it would get moldy before I could eat it all. I'm not one to waste things, But I do make a pot of coffee every morning, couldn't make it through the day without it. I'm not about to become one of those people who stand in line at one of those fancy coffee places every morning. Number one, I don't have the time, and number two, I can't afford it." She poured water into the drip-style coffee maker, plugged it in,
then wiped the counter.

"Take a breath, Cynthia," she muttered. "You sound like a babbling idiot."

"Did you say something?"

She turned and shrugged. "No, not a thing." She turned back to the cupboards. "How do you take your coffee?"

"Black."

Her precious china clinked against the counter as the fresh brewed aroma wafted up to meet her. When the bubbling noise subsided, she filled two cups perched atop delicate saucers and carried them back to the sofa.

Alex glanced around the room. "How come your apartment looks so much better than mine?"

She set the cups on the coffee table. "What do you mean? Your furniture can't look worse than this stuff." She scanned the peeling walls. "I even considered doing some repainting myself, but when I asked the super about providing the supplies, he just rolled his eyes at me. I took it as a no."

Alex scratched his head. "It's not the furniture or paint, it's the… Okay, I got it! It's the ... cleanliness. I think I answered my own question."

She sat next to him, handed him coffee and grinned. "You know what they say? Cleanliness is next to Godliness."

Alex looked awkward holding a dainty saucer in one hand while he held the steaming china cup with the other. "Well, in that case, I don't think God even knows my name. I'm not filthy, just not a very tidy guy when it comes to picking up. I used to be neater, but in this place, it doesn't seem to matter." He took a small sip.

"Tastes just as good as Starbucks," he said, waggling an eyebrow as he set his cup down.

Cynthia held her cup to her lips and blew away the steam. She hoped her closeness didn’t make him uncomfortable again. "I hope I’m not crowding you. I could have sat in the chair, but it's actually worse than the man-eating couch. I've been pierced by its broken springs more than once."

"I like you just where you are." His eyes sparkled. “If I gave you a different impression, I’m sorry because I didn’t intend to.”

Pleasantly surprised when he moved a little closer, she felt a surge of heat in her cheeks. Her mind echoed his sentiments. There was no place she'd rather be at the moment. She relaxed against the back of the sofa and sipped her coffee. She was about to say how much she was enjoying the evening when the lights blinked on and off a few times before darkness engulfed the room.

***

"Shit! The wiring in this dump sucks." The building superintendent commented on the flickering lights and hoped it wasn't a problem he'd have to address. Usually, the dimming meant that someone had blown a breaker, but on occasion the entire building went dark, and he'd have to trek down to the basement and find out which switch had been thrown.

He sat, anticipating darkness, but the lights stayed on. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Whew, I hate having to fix things. Sorry for whoever is having the problem, but they‘re on their own."

He picked up his newspaper and turned to the interesting continuation of the headline story, “Dead and Missing Women.”

Chapter
Two

"Whoa, what happened?" Alex asked.

Cynthia wanted to swear but restrained herself. "It's that darn breaker. The old fuse boxes were replaced, but nothing has been done about the ancient wiring. The breaker switch trips every time I plug in one extra thing. I have no idea how this building passed the code restrictions. Sometimes I actually see sparks fly when I vacuum."

His melodious laughter filled the darkened room. "Maybe you should slow down."

She poked him in the arm. "Very funny. I'm talking danger here, and you're making jokes." Despite the man-eating couch and the faulty wiring, the evening was still going far better than she'd hoped. She felt like she'd known Alex for ages.

"Do you know where the breaker box is?" he asked.

"Probably in the same place as the one in your apartment."

"Duh! Guess I should have figured that out. Do you have a flashlight?"

"In the kitchen drawer. I always keep fresh batteries there. It only took three or four times for me to learn they're a necessity at The Cairns."

She felt around for the coffee table and set her cup down. Rising, she groped her way into the kitchen to find the flashlight. She fumbled in the drawer where she remembered last putting it, and finally, her fingers closed around its familiar long handle.

The on switch wouldn't budge, but maybe Alex’s strong fingers could make the darn thing work. She turned and started back to the couch and ran smack into him. The flashlight fell to the floor with a thud. "Yikes," she yelled. "I thought you were still over there."

"I guess I should have stayed." He chuckled.

She dropped to her knees and began feeling around in the darkness.

"Ouch!" Her head collided with his. "What are you doing down here?"

"Just trying to be helpful."

His warm breath fanned across her face as she rubbed the point of impact on her forehead. "Thanks, I guess."

"Eureka, I found it," Alex yelled.

"Great! Now, if we can make it to the fuse box without any further incidents, that would be nice." She hoped her voice carried her smile through the darkness. 

While Cynthia held the light, Alex fumbled with the breakers inside the musty closet. Finally, after flipping each of them to find the thrown one, the electricity surged to life. Alex raised his arms toward heaven. "And the Lord said, 'Let there be light'."

"Thanks. You're pretty handy to have around. I’ve done it myself before, but I'm glad you were here."

"Maybe you should apply for the apartment superintendent's position. God knows we need a good replacement." She picked a safe topic but her mind fantasized about another scenario. Maybe staying in the dark would have been more satisfying. Would it be so wrong if they shared a kiss so soon? She snapped back to reality, hearing her mother’s voice caution Cynthia about being a brazen woman
. A first date is way too early for romance.

Alex held up a hand in protest to her suggestion. "
Nooo! Not me. This building could become a lifetime commitment, and I'm not planning on staying here until I die." He returned to the couch, sat and downed the last of his coffee.

Hiding her disappointment, Cynthia put away the flashlight. "Would you like another cup? I'm sure what you just drank was disgustingly cold."

"No thanks. I'm fine."

She joined him on the couch. Tucking one leg beneath her, she leaned closer. "Talking about the super and his job…do you find him as non-responsive as I do?"

Alex nodded. "I think he's a lazy, no-good shirker. It's easier to fix things myself then have to keep calling him. He's no better than the one who used to work here."

"Oh, I didn't know the other one, but this guy has only been in my apartment once since I moved here, and that's enough for me. He gives me the creeps. He has those beady little eyes and looks like he hasn't bathed in weeks. I just keep my fingers crossed that nothing else breaks." She eyed her door.  “Of course, I’m still waiting for him to come fix my deadbolt.”

Alex rose.  “Let’s have a look at that. No use waiting for the super.  Next time you need help, just call me.”  He bent and examined the deadbolt, flicking the locking mechanism. "Looks like you'll need a new one. You can pick one up at any hardware store. I recommend you do that right away so I can install it for you. You can never be too safe…if you know what I mean."