Part 9 (1/2)
”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 h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l 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 circ.u.mstances. ”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 a.s.sortment of screw drivers, wrenches, rolls of wire, locks, switches, and a very large roll of electrical wire were a.s.sembled 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 ma.s.saged 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 succ.u.mbed 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 s.e.xist 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 s.e.xual out of even the most innocent of subjects. Pigs...men were truly pigs. She finished donning his uniform and hurried off to roll call.