Culture Shock

Home > Other > Culture Shock > Page 11
Culture Shock Page 11

by Ginger Simpson


  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. Geez, 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.

  "Alex. Where are you?"

  He walked into the living room. "Here. Trying to do something with your hair. Got any suggestions?"

  "Combing it might be nice."

  "I did."

  "With what, the toilet brush?" The sarcasm that had become commonplace tinged her voice.

  "Don't be rude. Just show me what to do. I now understand why women say, 'I just washed my hair and can't do a thing with it.'"

  She took his hand, led him back into the bathroom and pointed at the commode. "Sit."

  Using a rounded brush and the hair dryer, she worked her magic.

  When he stood and surveyed the results, he was astounded. "How did you do that?"

  "It takes practice," she said, tucking a stray strand into place. "You saw what I did. It's an acquired talent, hopefully one you won't have time to learn."

  How strange to look at himself but think of her. He couldn't help himself, her personality shone through no matter the circumstance. In his mind, she was still that cute, little blonde who charmed him…well, at least most of the time.

  She looked at his bulky wristwatch. "I have to go, and so do you. Don't be late."

  Like a child, Alex waited until she was out the door then made a face. "Don't be late, comb your hair, don't make messes," he mimicked her demands.

  The side she'd shown definitely wasn't the charming and attractive one he preferred, but he understood her frustration. He slung her purse over his shoulder and hiked up his panty hose. "I hate these damn things,” he mumbled. The exited the apartment, pulled the door closed and locked it. Pausing in the hallway, he smoothed his skirt. If he had to play the role, he might as well look his best. God forbid someone tell Cynthia they noticed she’d lost some of her fashion sense.

  On the first floor landing, Alex caught site of the building superintendent atop a stepstool, replacing a light bulb in the hallway. Surveying the maintenance man with a policeman's eye, Alex immediately noticed the blue towel hanging from the super’s back pocket. Alex held his breath until he reminded himself not to jump to conclusions. So, the guy had a tattoo and carried the same colored cloth the perp left behind. Alex carried a purse and wore panty hose. The facts didn't prove he was a woman. Still, his thoughts did little to still the niggling fear that there was something fishy about the man.

  As the super finished and disappeared down the hallway, another figure popped through an open door. Alex recognized Thomas Carpenter and quickly ducked out the front entrance. Given his options, he would just as soon be hit by a bus than have that creep ogle him again.

  All the way downtown on the train, Alex tossed thoughts about the super back and forth. There were too many coincidences to ignore: blue towels, tattoo, and, until this very minute, Alex hadn't realized that the man's appearance at The Cairns coincided with the first kidnapping. Stepping onto the BART platform, Alex vowed to pay closer attention to the new, not so handyman.

  Chapter Twelve

  Alex lay in bed and stared into the darkness, watching an occasional reflection of passing car lights stretch across the ceiling. He wasn't sure of the time, but he sensed it was very late, and he couldn't get comfortable. Although a week and a half had passed since he and Cynthia switched bodies, it seemed much longer.

  Strange thoughts ran through his mind. Little things, like lying with his hands behind his head as he once had just didn't feel right anymore, or sleeping on his stomach. Her breasts made that position uncomfortable, too.

  He fumbled for a comfortable position. Crossing his arms on his chest reminded him too much of the corpses he'd seen in the morgue. And, if he hugged her small frame, his hands either grasped the side of her breasts or disappeared under her armpits.

  He may have her body, but he still had his thoughts. He fondled her breasts, but the sensation w
as beyond weird. A man's hands should be bigger than her dainty ones. He stretched his arms out at his sides and sighed.

  Did Cynthia explore his body like he did hers? When she showered, did she enjoy washing his penis or was it just a bothersome chore? He wished he knew so he didn't feel like the only creep. The last time he'd been this curious about body parts, he'd been five-years-old and his mother yelled at him for playing with himself in the living room.

  What would Cynthia think if she knew he fondled her boobs and buttocks in the shower? He quickly fisted his hands, aroused at the idea. How could he have sexual fantasies about the body he inhabited? He certainly had no intention of discussing it or his actions with her. Rolling to his side, he finally found a comfortable niche in the too-hard mattress and closed his bleary eyes. The last image he pictured: His own face yelling at him for taking such liberties.

  ***

  Alex sat in Cynthia's office and pretended to be working on the project Cynthia had completed at home the night before. He doodled on a notepad while his mind wandered. The seconds dragged on, but thank goodness, Friday had arrived at last.

  For two whole days he'd be free from her prison walls. He glanced at the clock on the wall and noted the time: Noon

  A head poked in the doorway. "Hey, Cyn, wanna go to lunch?"

  Startled, and unprepared to face one of Cynthia's co-workers, Alex swallowed hard. "Uh…no thanks. I have a deadline to meet. But have a nice time and thanks for asking." He wiggled his fingers in an attempted feminine wave. Besides, he'd already eaten a sandwich he brought from home, devoured a candy bar, drank two sodas and enjoyed a bag of chips from the vending machine.

  After the door closed, Alex pushed away from the desk and leaned back in the chair. He almost locked his fingers behind his head, but remembered that wasn't how ladies sat. He straightened and drummed his fingers on the desktop. Would this day never end?

 

‹ Prev