Culture Shock (3 page)

"I guess being tall, dark and handsome has its drawbacks," he quipped, while slapping both his cheeks. Too much alcohol always made waking up tough.

"Hmm!
" He leaned in closer, recalling an old re-run of a favorite cop program. “Maybe I should forego shaving and see if I can pull off that Miami Vice-Don Johnson look." He studied the image staring back at him. "Ah, maybe not ... then I'd have to get one of those white, linen outfits like he wears."  Alex backed away and cocked his head.

How would that famous TV cop solve Alex’s current case?  The hot water always took at least five minutes to reach his apartment so Alex turned on the shower. While he waited, he sauntered back to the bed and pulled his covers back into place and straightened the pillows.  Satisfied he’d done something to improve his housekeeping, he dropped his boxers on the floor, stepped out of them and went back into the bathroom where the water had finally turned warm.  Taking a shower in The Cairns was more like walking in a light rain, but Alex stepped in the tub and quickly soaped and rinsed.  The one thing he could always count on
: the hot water never lasted very long.

He yanked the towel from the wall rack, sending the securing hardware flying in all directions. Amidst the tinkling of scattering screws, the entire bar clattered to the floor. He shook his head and sighed. "Shit! What next?"

Terrycloth wrapped around his waist, Alex left the mess lying on the floor and went into the bedroom. Should he fix the bar or call the super? Such important decisions made Alex laugh. He decided to fix the bar later, right after he picked up all the bottle caps on the living room floor.

He donned his sweat suit and tennis shoes.  Images of the missing women spun through his mind, along with a faceless man who heaved a snide laugh at the police‘s inability to catch him. Overcome with the need to escape his cramped quarters and sickening images, Alex decided a quick run around the nearby park sounded like just the ticket. Besides, a little exercise would counter-balance all those calories from his nightly beers, a habit
he’d acquired since the breakup, and one he needed to discard.

He picked up his IPod and clipped it to his waistband. As he opened the door, the heaping trashcan in the kitchen corner caught his attention. The contents overflowed the container and spewed onto the floor. He donned his headphones and cranked up the volume of his all time favorite song, Travis
Tritt's, Ten Feet Tall and Bulletproof.

Singing along and not caring that he wasn't in tune, he picked up empty beer bottles, potato chip bags, and all the caps that missed their mark and stuffed them all inside the garbage sack. After tying the top, he hefted the bag over his shoulder and strode out into the hallway, keeping step with the musical beat.

While passing Apartment 2A, the door opened. The tenant backed into the hallway, two garbage bags in tow. Not watching where she was going, she bumped right into him.

Obviously shocked by the sudden impact, she spun around. "Excuse me, I'm so sorry. I should..." Her widened eyes traveled the length of his body. Her mouth gaped.

He towered over her petite, maybe five-foot-three frame.

She gazed up at him. "Uh ... I should have been watching where I was going."

Alex dropped the trash bag on the floor and removed his headphones. Unable to resist, he returned her once over, but with a much slower scan. Blonde hair drawn back into a ponytail presented a youthful appearance, but her clingy, terrycloth outfit did a great job outlining assets that proved she wasn't a child. The way she licked her full bottom lip, maybe a nervous habit, made him want to savor a taste for himself.

Realizing he had missed most of what she said, he forced himself to stop ogling her and pay attention. He'd heard her apology and needed to respond, but his mouth turned dry as dust. He cleared his throat and smiled. "No problem," he managed to croak.

Puberty and voice change passed through his mind, but that took place a long time ago. He swallowed hard and pointed to her trash bags and then to his own. "Looks like we're both headed for the same place."

"Yep, it's Saturday, my cleaning day. Same routine every weekend." Her head tilted in a way that made her beautiful hazel eyes sparkle.

His palms turned sweaty, and he wiped his right hand against his pant lengthen extended it. "Name's Alex Carlyle. I live in Apartment 2E."

Her tiny hand disappeared inside his. "Hi, Alex. I'm Cynthia Freitas. Looks like we're neighbors. How long have you lived here?"

Why did she make his knees weak? He adjusted his stance. "Going on two years already. Time flies when you're having fun."

"Wow, two whole years!" The rise and fall of her shoulders showed her shock. "I've only lived here for three months and I'm ready to move."

He laughed. "Me, too. Service is lousy around here, and everything is falling apart. But don't give your two weeks notice yet. There aren't too many other affordable places to live this close to the city."

He still held her hand, but dropped it like a hot coal the moment he realized he hadn‘t let go. If she was bothered, it didn't show.

"That's for sure." She seemed to want to keep the conversation going. "I looked at lots of places, but this is the only one within my price range. So, here I am!”  She cocked her head and peered up at him. “Why haven't we run into each other before?"

"Strange that we haven't, especially since we're just two doors apart. But, then, I pretty much spend all my time at work. When I'm home, I hibernate."

"What do you do when you aren't…hibernating?"

"I'm in law enforcement…a police office."

"Gee. I didn't know a lawman lived so close. I guess I'll have to keep my wild parties to a minimum." Tipping her head back, she giggled, not in a flirty way, but more a nervous titter at a joke made at her own expense.

A woman's laughter sounded good after so long, and she was cute too boot "Hmm, so, that's where all the noises are coming from. I just thought the pipes were creaking and the floor settling." He leaned against the wall, relaxed and not wanting the conversation to end.

Her smile faded. "Actually, that's exactly what you heard. Squealing pipes pretty much describes the only sounds coming from my apartment."

"Right! A pretty girl like you?"

Her cheeks reddened. "Thank you. But I haven't had time to mix and mingle with anyone other than colleagues from work. I'm an accountant by trade, and they aren't usually the most exciting folks in the world. I like to leave the boring part of me behind at five o'clock."

Her blush surprised him. Surely she was used to compliments, a looker like her. He reached past her and put his hand on her doorknob. "Got your key?"

She produced one from her pocket. "Right here."

He pulled the door closed and locked it. "Don't want to take any chances with your valuables, especially in this neighborhood. Oh, and you mentioned not having excitement in your life?" He picked up one of her trash bags along with his own. "How's this? Allow me to escort you to the dumpster. Now you‘ll have something to write home about."  He laughed and it felt good.

Once in the alley, Cynthia flashed back to the building Superintendent and his suspicious behavior. She fought the urge to dig for the bundle he'd deposited, and almost laughed. Wouldn't dumpster diving make a great first impression on her handsome neighbor?

Alex snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Can I have your other bag or have you become attached to it?"

"I'm sorry," she said, handing it to him. "I guess I drifted off somewhere."

Alex took hold of her elbow. "Garbage delivered, mission accomplished."

She chuckled as they walked back into the building. "Next time I hope you take me some place that smells a little better."

She noticed the slightly ajar first-floor apartment door as they ascended the stairs, but didn't mention it. For the first time since she'd arrived, she felt safe.

***

He
watched the couple disappear from sight, inched his door shut then leaned against it. He placed a cigarette in his mouth and struck a match. The smell of sulfur hung in the air. What a disgusting display he’d just witnessed. A chuckle, sounding evil even to him, escaped his puckered lips as he held the fire to the tobacco end and watched the Camel come to life.

The way they'd laughed and carried on while he peeked through the door. She was a looker, that blonde from upstairs, but then she probably knew it. He could tell by the way she batted her eyes and flaunted her curves at her unsuspecting victim. Her actions made him sick to his stomach.

The sun had climbed higher in the sky and left his room virtually dark. He moved to turn on the light and pondered saving the poor schmuck who'd been with the bitch. So many blondes and so little time. But, ridding the world of women like her was his responsibility and he'd take care of her soon
, very soon.

***

Cynthia couldn't believe she'd actually churned up enough nerve to invite Alex for dinner. Talking with him came easy, and the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous didn't hurt either. She could only imagine how fantastic he looked in his police gear.  The saying, “women love a man in uniform” had to have started for a good reason.

While they'd been at the dumpster, she pondered mentioning what she'd seen from her window earlier; but the last thing she wanted was for him to think she had nothing better to do than spy on people. She'd decided to keep it to herself, at least for the moment. Still, she wondered about the strange man who oversaw the building. His
emotionless features made him appear evil.

Rummaging through the cupboards, she grasped for ideas on what to prepare. She had chicken in the fridge, so she could broil the breasts and top them with melted Parmesan cheese and chives. Now all she needed was a side dish. Perhaps mac and cheese. Didn't everyone love pasta in some form? Standing on tiptoes and still barely reaching the second shelf, she teased the box forward until it fell into her hands. Her greatest dilemma came while surveying the can goods on the shelf below. Green beans? Corn? Baked Beans? Decisions, decisions.

She snapped her fingers. "Got it. I'll do green beans with sliced new potatoes and bacon bits." She hadn’t eaten all day and her menu made her stomach rumble.

She put the cans with the beans and potatoes on the counter next to the box of pasta to simplify preparation later. Afterwards, she made one more sweep through the apartment making sure everything was tidy before she showered.

In the bathroom, she stood with her hand under the running water for what seemed an eternity. When the coldness finally changed to warm, Cynthia stepped into the tub and drew the shower curtain closed. As usual, the pressure was terrible. Water dribbled out rather than sprayed. She lathered her body with fragrant, liquid jasmine, then struggled to remove the suds with the diminished trickle.

Suddenly, the pressure increased at the same time that the water turned to ice. She screamed and bolted from the tub, goose bumps dotting her ivory skin. She reached in to turn off the shower, then quickly grabbed a towel. "Yikes! I hate this place. First, no hot water then cold water. What next?  Oh, Lord, find me a new place to live…one I can afford!"

Her thoughts turned to her pending dinner with Alex.  “Never mind, Lord,” She added to her prayer. “I found a bright spot that makes me want to stay, at least a while longer.”

***

Tine was nearing seven o'clock. Dinner was ready, the oven set to warm. She’d spent the last hour checking and re-checking her appearance. After all, this time she wanted to make a good impression. His first glimpse of her hadn't been all that great-hair a mess, no make-up, sweaty, and probably smelling pretty like a garden bouquet.

The small table in the kitchen was set for two, complete with candle and cloth napkins. Smooth jazz played softly on the radio. She nervously paced, mentally chastising herself for getting ready so early.

At the sound of a knock, she adjusted her blouse collar and made sure her shirttail was tucked into her jeans. Before opening the door, she recalled a hint she picked up from a magazine, bent at the waist and swept her hair from side-to-side to give it a fuller, more natural appearance. A sudden wave of dizziness overtook her when she straightened, and she held her hand against her forehead. "Whew," she whispered. "Head rush! Let's not do that again."

Feeling a tad disoriented, she opened the door.

He looked magnificent in his form-fitting Levi's and a cobalt blue T-shirt that almost matched his eyes. His thick, black hair, no longer confined beneath headphones, was impeccably styled, and he sported white, tennis shoes that were as unblemished as his dark complexion.

Her heart fluttered and she still felt dizzy, but surely not from any crummy beauty tip. "Hi. You're right on time. Come in."

His outstretched hand held a bottle of wine. "I hope you like White
Zin."

"I love it. It's my favorite." Her hand grazed his as she took the bottle. "Would you like a glass before dinner?"