The Bikini Car Wash

by Pamela Morsi

  Andi wasn’t sure she liked equating the two.

  With the shared hope that if they ignored her, she might go away, Andi and Tiff both became very focused on cleaning the floor, the mop boards, the expanse of wall beneath the windows.

  Cher-L accepted the silence, but slowly she began to kick her foot. As if keeping time to music in her head, the tempo picked up until the movement was almost staccato and very annoying.

  “So what are the plans here?” she asked.

  “Plans? We have no plans,” Andi answered.

  “Come on, you’re cleaning up for some reason,” she said. “You must be opening up something.”

  Andi shook her head. “No, nothing,” she replied.

  “Nothing? Nothing at all?” Cher-L gave her head a small shake as if to signal she would not have her question put off so easily.

  Andi didn’t really want to go into it again, but she heaved a sigh and tried to get her reply short enough to tweet.

  “I wanted to open up a drive-through coffee shop, but last night I was turned down for a variance, a zoning change.”

  The brow beneath the blue-striped bangs furrowed. “A zoning change? I thought people were either ‘in the zone’ or ‘zoned out’.”

  “This is a little different,” Andi said. “It’s the way cities and towns manage growth. They can limit certain kinds of businesses in some places.”

  “Sounds unfair to me,” Cher-L said.

  It felt unfair to Andi, but she kept that to herself.

  “So they won’t let you open a coffee shop.”

  “No.”

  “So what can you open?” she asked.

  Andi sighed heavily and shook her head. “I haven’t a clue. The only thing I can do for sure is open it up as what it’s always been, a car wash.”

  “So,” Cher-L responded. “Then open a car wash.”

  Andi stopped mopping long enough to look at Cher-L. Life was so easy when you didn’t understand much about it. “I can’t make any money with a car wash,” she explained. “That’s why my father had to close the place years ago.”

  “People still get their cars washed,” Cher-L pointed out.

  “They do,” Andi agreed. “But the car wash business has completely changed. The way we get them washed, the technology of it, that’s all different.”

  “As if!” Cher-L disagreed. “There’s not any technology to washing cars.”

  “Yes, actually there is,” Andi said. “And it’s been pretty innovative.” She leaned her mop against the wall. “In the 1960s they invented the self-service car wash, where you could get pressurized water for what people used to do with their garden hose. You put coins in, you got water out.”

  Cher-L nodded.

  “Then for those who were a little more lazy, they came up with the in-bay automatic wash. You drive up into it and a whirl of fiberglass brushes wash and wax, and then it blows you dry and you’re on your way without even getting out of your car.”

  “That’s what I do,” Tiff said. “I get a discount on it when I buy gas.”

  Andi nodded. “It’s cheap and convenient. But it can be really hard on your clear coat finish. The people who really love their cars avoid it.”

  Tiff nodded. “I remember my ex saying something like that.”

  “So they came up with the tunnel wash,” Andi said. “It’s mechanized with the car moving through the different wash, rinse and wax stations. But there are no harsh brushes and all the finishing is done by hand. A perfect mix of technology and manpower.”

  Andi was quoting her father on that last statement. He had been very taken with tunnel wash technology. It was the reason he decided to close up and retire.

  “So what’s this place?” Cher-L asked.

  “This is a hand wash,” Andi answered. “High labor, low tech. It’s very hard to compete head-to-head with a mechanized wash. Their price points can just be so much lower. And there are just way too few customers willing to pay a premium to have it done the old-fashioned way.”

  “You’d have to come up with some kind of gimmick to overcome the disadvantage,” Tiff said. “The way Connor’s Diner gives unlimited refills on drinks, so that people aren’t thinking they could have eaten cheaper at a fast-food joint.”

  “Exactly. That’s what hand washes do. They offer detailing and extra interior cleaning and buffing with pure elbow grease,” Andi said. “That works for some people in some places. But in this town, with our economy, we’d have to think of something besides personal service to bring them in.”

  Tiff nodded glumly. “These days nobody wants to spend extra money on anything.”

  There was a thoughtful pause of agreement between Tiff and Andi. It was suddenly interrupted by Cher-L.

  “Well, that’s not true,” she said. “Oh, I guess it’s true about women, but it’s not true about men.”

  “What do you mean?” Andi asked.

  “Yeah, women can be pretty tight with the money, especially for something like washing a car, but men aren’t.”

  “They aren’t?”

  Both Andi and Tiff were surprised.

  Cher-L shook her head. “I go out to bars nearly every night and you wouldn’t believe the number of guys who want to pay for my drinks. It doesn’t matter if I’m alone or with girlfriends. I drink all night and it hardly ever costs me anything.”

  Andi sighed. “That’s different,” she said.

  “No, it’s not,” Cher-L said. “It’s men with money spending more than they need to for something they want.”

  Andi shot a glance at Tiff and saw an almost imperceptible shrug of disbelief.

  “That’s just guys in bars,” Tiff said. “With a short skirt like that and a little bit of alcohol haze, men aren’t buying beers just to be polite.”

  “It’s not like I’m having sex with them,” Cher-L said. “Trust me, I don’t come so cheap. They pay for the drinks just to sit next to me and look at me and talk to me. They pay just to imagine that maybe I would do something, even when I never will.”

  “That’s kind of a dangerous game, Cher-L,” Tiff said.

  The younger woman waved away her concern. “And I can spot the troublemakers ten miles off, so I steer clear,” she assured them. “Most of these guys are just sweethearts.”

  Andi had her doubts about that. And if Tiff’s raised eyebrow was evidence, she was skeptical as well.

  “But what does any of this have to do with washing cars?” Andi asked.

  “If you want to bring men in to get their cars washed, I think it all depends on what you’re wearing when you wash them,” she answered.

  “What do you mean?”

  Cher-L’s expression was smug and worldly-wise.

  “Are you going to wash a guy’s car in baggy old coveralls, or are you going to be wearing just a wet T-shirt and a thong?”

  Jelly sat at the dining room table. Across from her, Happy Bear hadn’t even taken a sip of his tea, but then he rarely did. Jelly was looking through the photo album with Sesame Street’s Big Bird on the front. It was one of her favorites. All of the snapshots featured two little girls at play.

  “This is Andi and me when we were in our stroller,” Jelly told her stuffed animal companion. “Mom used to take us everywhere and we would ride along, side by side together. People couldn’t tell us apart.”

  Jelly gravely noted the Law & Order implications. “No positive identification in a lineup. Lieutenant Van Buren would be disappointed.”

  After a moment Jelly smiled broadly at the bear. “That was when me and Andi played together all the time. I like this picture book better than our school one. In school it wasn’t me and Andi anymore. I had Special Olympics and Camp Courageous. Andi had…Andi had something else.”

  She sighed a bit sadly, but turned the page. Immediately she was smiling once more. “Look at this!” she said. “This is a fun one. See us running through the lawn sprinkler. See how we’re laughing. This person is me. My swimsuit is pink. Andi’
s is blue.” She gazed at the photo for a long moment. “I wish we could wear our swimsuits and play in the water again.”

  Chapter 7

  BECAUSE IT WAS raining in torrents, Walt raced from the bus to the shelter of the ticket booth overhang in the parking lot at Mt. Ridley Park. He wore his cap down low to hide his face and the collar of his jacket high to disguise his profile. The secrecy and subterfuge was getting old. He understood why it had to be that way. He was sure that some men would have enjoyed it. But the rush of excitement from an illicit relationship had never held much allure for him. He’d had too much of it too soon.

  The memory of those heady days of first love was clear in his mind. He recalled it all distinctly, holding hands in the bleachers of the cold empty gym. Paul had promised to stand outside as their lookout. Everybody else should have been in or around the cafeteria. But in a busy place like Plainview High School, privacy was always at a premium. Beside him wearing a pleated shirt and pristine white blouse, her dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, was the love of his life.

  “We can’t tell anyone,” she’d said. Her desperate whisper somehow drew his attention to her beautiful mouth, the plump lips shimmered with the palest pink lipstick. He wanted to kiss her.

  “Nobody knows,” he said.

  “Paul and Ella know.”

  “We can trust them.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’m sure we can. I just get so scared.” Vulnerability was unusual for her. She had such strength of purpose, such confidence in herself that it almost glowed around her like a phosphorescence. It was in many ways her most attractive feature. And to Walt’s mind, her attractive features were almost too numerous to count.

  “If anyone finds out, anyone, then the whole town will know,” she said. “My family would be so angry. And so hurt. I couldn’t bear to hurt them.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Please, Walt, don’t let me hurt them.”

  “No, no, of course we won’t hurt them,” he’d assured her. “But I love you. I can’t bear to be apart from you.”

  “I know. I love you, too. But it’s…it’s impossible.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “I just don’t know how to make it possible,” she rephrased.

  “We’ll find a way,” he promised.

  He leaned forward and kissed her then. He couldn’t help himself. Their stolen moments together were too infrequent. He craved her like a drug. Her body was his nightly fantasy. But he craved her smile, her voice, her laughter, just as much.

  His kiss lingered on her lips and he pulled her a bit closer, just enough to feel the graze of her nipples against his chest. He laid a hand upon her knee, inching up the hem of her pleated skirt. He wanted to grasp her tight against him, but he didn’t trust himself. He was afraid that if they got started, they’d never be able to stop. There were so many people to think of, so many hopes and dreams and aspirations in their way.

  As soon as their lips parted, he slid away from her, giving them each a safety zone. Walt deliberately tried to slow his breathing and shifted his legs to disguise his reaction to her nearness. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He noticed, as she regained her self-control, the soft, loving look in her eyes melted into sadness.

  How long could a couple be in love and keep it a secret? The two had kept their silence for five months. Secret steadies, pretending in public to be just friends. The days were filled with longing glances and stolen moments. Their nights went on forever, with Walt sneaking downstairs to call her on the telephone. Many nights they talked till daybreak. They didn’t need sleep or food or even air to breathe, they just needed each other.

  “Have you read the English assignment?” she asked.

  “The English assignment?” Walt was taken aback by the abrupt change in discussion from their undying love to this week’s homework. “Uh…no, I haven’t yet.”

  “It’s Romeo and Juliet,” she told him. “I didn’t like it at all. It’s…it’s so sad. Both Barb and Karen are crazy for it. They say it’s romantic. Star-crossed lovers with their stupid, old-fashioned parents. The girls think that it’s so cool that they are our age and choose to die for love. For me it’s just…it’s just such…such…I don’t even know a word that’s bad enough. Two people who love each other ought to get to be together, to live happily-ever-after. If they can’t do it in real life, at least they ought to get to do it in stories.”

  Walt slowly nodded in agreement. “We are going to live happily-ever-after,” he said firmly. “You’ve got to trust me on that.”

  “I do trust you. I trust you completely about everything. But I also know that you aren’t in charge of the world. And the people who are, our parents and teachers, even God doesn’t really seem to be on our side.”

  No, God had not been on their side. Walt had to agree with that as he waited in the deserted parking lot watching the rain stream.

  He caught sight of the blue Mercedes coming up the road. It pulled into a parking space under a tree far across the lot. He zipped up his windbreaker and pulled the hood over his head before stepping out into the relentless downpour.

  He ran across the parking lot dodging puddles. He felt exhilarated, full of life, young. Yes, that was it, he felt young.

  The passenger door was already ajar, a thin feminine hand held it open. The woman inside was bright-eyed and petite. She was wearing casual slacks, a crisp blue blouse and a summer sweater. Her hair was tidy, her makeup natural but effective. In short, she was an attractive woman. An attractive woman who looked her age.

  Walt slid into the seat next to her.

  “I’m getting all your fancy leather upholstery wet,” Walt warned her in apology.

  “I’m sure you know how much I care about that,” she said. “Here, let’s get this windbreaker off of you and hang it in the backseat and maybe it will dry out a little.”

  She tried to help him out of his jacket in the crowded small space. By the time they managed to get the dripping nylon off Walt’s back and hanging on the backseat window hook, they were both laughing and they were both wet.

  “So much for working well together as a team,” she teased. “It’s a good thing we weren’t trying to get naked. Somebody could have gotten injured.”

  “It would be worth an injury to get naked with you, Rachel,” he told her.

  She grinned at him.

  “You talk a good game,” she pointed out. “But I don’t see you hustling me off to the adult video store motel.”

  “No scratchy sheets on backstreets affair for me. I’m not that kind of guy,” he informed her. “I mean, why buy the bull when you can get…uh…wait a minute.”

  She laughed. It was a sound that oozed across his skin like warm molasses.

  Walt reached over and took her hand in his own and brought her fingers to his lips as he looked into her bright brown eyes. “When a man has waited as long as I have, well, he wants it in a bed of roses with all the time left in the world.”

  “A bed of roses is not that hard to manage,” she told him. “But all the time left in the world is a bit more difficult to guarantee.” She was still smiling, but her expression was more serious.

  “Whatever we’ve got left is enough,” he assured her. “As long as we can get started soon.”

  She nodded.

  He pulled her as close to him as the steering column would allow. She rested her head on his shoulder. He breathed in the scent of her. It was fresh and lightly floral, but there was nothing cloying about it. He loved the fragrance that was, to him, so familiar and so welcome.

  He felt a sudden stab of regret about Ella. Had she worn perfume or just plain soap? He was certain that his late wife had smelled lovely. In truth he couldn’t remember a scent at all. Thirty-five years of marriage and he apparently hadn’t noticed.

  But it was unfair to compare the two women, he reminded himself. Ella never compared him. Or if she did, he never knew it. He was determined to do right by his late wife, the mother of his chil
dren. It was so easy just to get lost in the woman in his arms.

  “Have I told you lately how I love you?” he asked.

  He could feel her grin against his shoulder. “You could always sing it,” she replied. “Though you were never that good with the Elvis imitation.”

  He chuckled, but kept his serious tone. “I do love you,” he told her.

  “I know,” she answered. “And I love you. I always have. It just doesn’t make things any easier.”

  “No,” he agreed simply.

  “How are your girls?” she asked.

  “Fine,” Walt answered. “They’re doing fine. Jelly is the happiest person on earth. I know she misses her mother. And losing touch with the people at her old job, that bothers her, too. But somehow she wakes up every morning just happy and excited and that enthusiasm sticks with her all day long.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she said.

  Walt nodded. “Yeah, it’s one of those unexpected perks that you can’t imagine springing from disability. She can be so satisfied with so little. And her sense of her own success is unflappable. I wish Andi had some of that.”

  Rachel made a sympathetic murmur of agreement.

  “When those two were children, I thought Jelly had the hard row to hoe, but it’s Andi, with all her gifts, who struggles to find her way.”

  “She misses her mother, too,” Rachel said.

  “Yes, she does. And unlike Jelly, I think she has lots of guilt. She and Ella always had their mother-daughter conflicts. Now, without the chance to make it up or say goodbye, all that remains are the ‘what-ifs.’”

  “That’s not all,” Rachel assured him. “It just takes some time to sort through that to get to the real memories.”

  Walt sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I heard about her drive-through coffee place,” Rachel told him. “I thought that was a good idea.”

  “It was,” Walt agreed. “I think it was. But the council just didn’t go for it. I told Andi not to take it personally, but she did. She blames Hank Guthrie. She thinks he torpedoed her. I’m sure he never intended that.”