The Bikini Car Wash

by Pamela Morsi

  There was something in her tone that was new. Pete noticed it immediately. She had never been even remotely disrespectful. But this was, he realized, the first time he’d ever heard respect. He almost felt badly. As if he should reassure her that he understood why she’d done what she had done. But he knew better than that. She wasn’t a member of the family. She was an employee. And she had messed up. She had assumed. She had forgotten who was her boss. And Pete knew the woman was smart enough never to let it happen again.

  “Do you still want me to try to locate your mother?” she asked.

  Pete shook his head. “I don’t believe that will be necessary,” he said. “Why ruin her vacation.”

  Jelly sat in the rumpus room looking again at the big brown photo book that smelled like the attic. On the TV in front of her, Detective Rey Curtis was having trouble with his wife. Jelly understood that. Sometimes even people who love each other have trouble.

  She showed him the old black-and-white photos of the long-ago prom with fake palm trees and streamers hanging from the ceiling.

  “This is my mom,” she said, holding up the picture of two couples dressed in elegant formal wear from another era. She moved her finger to the other side of the photo. “This is Pop.”

  There was another picture of the four of them sitting together at a table. Pop had his arm around another woman, a dark-haired woman who looked familiar, but Jelly didn’t recognize her.

  Another photo showed Mom dancing with a very tall man with a square jaw and a big grin. Her mom was smiling, too. Smiling in a strange, dreamy way that was not so much like her.

  “Mom was so happy,” Jelly told Rey. “I don’t know why. But when she’s looking at this guy, she looks so happy.”

  “That’s the way the groceryman looks at Andi,” Jelly revealed, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. “But Andi doesn’t look happy about it at all.”

  Jelly turned the page and there, posed within the center of a big heart strewn in crepe paper flowers was the strange man and Mom. They were kissing.

  She studied the photo for a long moment. “I wonder if he’s got her swimming suit in his pocket?” she asked.

  Chapter 15

  THE FIRST FULL workweek of Andi’s new car wash business was both profitable and problematic. Although nothing could compare with opening day, she was continually surprised by the steady stream of customers who pulled in and paid cash.

  They were able to reduce the schedule so that all three of them weren’t needed all the time. Tiff came in as soon as they opened. Cher-L showed up in early afternoon. During that period of time when both were there, Andi could run errands and do paperwork. The latter was rapidly becoming a burden.

  The new anti-bikini group, Merchants and Citizens Alliance for Morality, or M-CAM, the acronym they now called themselves, was very busy on numerous fronts trying to shut her down.

  Every day they filed some sort of complaint. Mr. Gilbert from the city administrator’s office or occasionally Officer Mayfield, would show up to deliver their latest salvo. Sewer and water use were being scrutinized. M-CAM tried to suggest that her permit of occupancy should never have been issued without an environmental impact study. The car wash shouldn’t have received uncontested approval of a “grandfathered” business since it had been closed for so many years.

  The status of Andi, Tiff and Cher-L was being carefully looked into. The quick, one-page agreements that clarified their employment as part-time, contract workers, had been written up by Andi. She had never imagined that a succession of Hank Guthrie’s golf buddies, all high-priced lawyers, would be second-guessing every word. And she’d received a warning about allowing Pop and Jelly to help. If they had no contracts and weren’t being paid, they were not allowed to volunteer.

  The insurance company that had formerly been most concerned about fire hazards and vandalism, now contacted her father about the necessity of upgrading the liability. The insurance guy, another golf buddy, insisted that with the building as a target of community organizations, the current coverage put his company at greater risk. What he wanted for that risk was almost doubling the premiums.

  Andi had her father respond by filing a grievance and requesting a hearing. That would at least stall any changes for a month or two.

  And then there were the protestors.

  A gaggle of middle-aged, middle-class women stood on the sidewalk most hours of the day carrying signs and harassing customers. Their placards were an unlikely mixture of feminist agenda and Midwest puritanism. BIKINI CAR WASH DEMEANS WOMEN or I WAS NAKED AND YE CLOTHED ME! Andi’s favorite was DOES YOUR MOTHER KNOW WHERE YOU WASH HER CAR?

  For the most part, Andi wasn’t bothered by their presence. It was like free advertising right on the street. And if some customers shied away because of them, others were emboldened.

  Most of the women allied against Andi were strangers. But several times she spotted former friends of her mother’s, or matrons at St. Hyacinth’s.

  One morning a woman cackled angrily at Tiff. The woman had come boldly up under the bay with her sign that read SIN! SHAME! NOT IN OUR CITY. She was calling out names like hussy and harlot. Tiff was cool and calm in ignoring her, but Andi decided to step in.

  “Officer Mayfield has made it quite clear that the protestors must stay on the public sidewalk,” she told the woman. “Are you going to get off this private property or am I going to call the police?”

  “You’d better be calling a moving van,” the woman answered. “We’re going to run you out of this town, back to that sinful place you came from.” Then she looked over at Tiff. “And you’d better be calling your attorney. We’ll see that your son is taken out of this filthy life for good.”

  Once the woman made her threats, she did retreat to the sidewalk.

  “I was born in Plainview,” Andi screamed at the woman’s retreating back.

  She began vigorously polishing the fender of the car Tiff was working on.

  “What a nasty old biddy!”

  Tiff nodded. “She’s Gil’s aunt.”

  “Oh gawd!” Andi said.

  “I just want to be totally straight with you,” Tiff said. “I am determined to keep this job and make as much money as I can here. But if it comes to a custody battle, I…I’ll have to quit.”

  Andi nodded. “I understand. I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” Tiff said. “Gil’s not a perfect guy, but he’s always tried to be a good dad and never threatened Caleb’s happiness, no matter how bad things got between the two of us.”

  “But you do think he might do something now?”

  Tiff shrugged. “I don’t know. He won’t talk to me. All I know about him is what Caleb tells me. And, of course, he wouldn’t discuss this stuff with our son.”

  “Well, at least there’s that,” Andi said. “There are guys out there who wouldn’t hesitate to try to turn his child against his mother.”

  “Gil’s not like that. He’s a family guy. A loving guy,” she insisted. “I’ve never thought…I’ve never thought that he actually quit loving me. Our troubles have all been about money. It kills him not to be able to support his family. And I think this, me working at a job like this, I think it embarrasses him on a lot of levels. It’s not just guys are looking at his wife. It’s also that he couldn’t make a decent living, so now his wife has to do this kind of work.”

  “I’m sorry, Tiff.”

  The woman straightened and pulled down the back of her blue-striped bikini that had the tendency to ride up.

  “Don’t you be sorry,” she said to Andi. “I’m glad to have this job. I’m making enough, just in tips, to put groceries on the table. I’m going to be able to pay my rent next month and the car insurance. I’m not lying awake at night worrying about how I’ll keep a roof over our head. You’re a lifesaver for me and Caleb. And if that offends the sensibilities of Aunt Carrie, well, the old bag can go fart herself!”

  Andi laughed. �
��I wouldn’t mind seeing that.”

  “But we wouldn’t want to smell it,” Tiff piped in.

  Unlike Tiff, Cher-L was having a great time. Andi worried, however, that everything she was earning was being spent on new swimwear. She showed up in a new bikini nearly every day. Some days she was lacy, girly. And others, she was a vamp. But all of the suits were small and the customers seemed to be appreciative. Cher-L laughed and giggled and flirted with the customers, but she was also perfect on the money and great at selling a little more service to every guy asking for a basic wash.

  One customer spent an inordinate amount of time talking to her. She was sweet and smiling, but she seemed serious as well. When he finally got in his huge midnight-blue SUV and left, she was practically jumping up and down with enthusiasm.

  “Do you know who that was?” she asked Andi.

  “Who?”

  “Micky Sveck!”

  “Who?” Andi repeated.

  “He’s the owner of The Horny Toad,” Cher-L said incredulously. “He hires all the talent for the shows. He thinks I have exactly what it takes to be an exotic dancer. Is that totally cool or what?”

  “You want to be an exotic dancer?”

  “Maybe,” she answered. “I mean you’ve got to be really sexy and know how to move and stuff and wouldn’t that be great?”

  “Uh…maybe, I guess,” Andi answered lamely.

  Cher-L was too thrilled to even notice. But the man’s visit had been a boost to her confidence. That afternoon she was even more fun and flirty with the customers.

  As the week went on, not all of those who patronized the business were men. Several older women showed up.

  The well-heeled, well-coifed, Mrs. Olivia Meyer was one of the first. Andi personally shined up her aging Lincoln until it looked nearly new.

  The woman inspected it with her nose in the air and then huffed a reluctant approval.

  “I was against you when I first heard about this,” she told Andi. “But I simply hate having to fight all that traffic out to the interstate. It’s nice to have my car cleaned up here, close to home.”

  “Well, we appreciate your business,” Andi said.

  “And as for these skimpy swimsuits,” Mrs. Meyer said. “I was young once, too.”

  Andi smiled appreciatively before the woman added, “Of course, I was never as hippy as you are, dear. You can’t put on so much as an ounce of fat or you’ll be positively pear-shaped.”

  “Uh, thanks for the warning,” Andi replied.

  She decided later that she could put up with all the digs that Mrs. Meyer could dish out. The lady told all her friends about the place and very shortly a number of aging widows were getting their cars cleaned at Bikini Car Wash.

  Bekka Kozlowski dropped by as well with the family minivan.

  “I think you’re very brave to get out here and try to make a living,” she told Andi. “I’m so glad I have Todd. I don’t know what I’d do if I was a single woman on my own in this economy.”

  Andi detected a bit of schadenfreude, delight in the bad luck of others, but not so much. And Andi was willing to take encouragement anywhere she could get it.

  Where it came from most was Pete Guthrie. He showed up in the mornings with bagels and muffins. On days when they were particularly busy, one of his employees, most usually one of the guys, would show up with a sack of sandwiches at lunchtime. And he’d taken it on as a regular thing at closing to drive Andi home.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she told him.

  “Yeah, I think I do,” he answered. “You’ve made it clear that you don’t want to date me. So it looks like being your chauffeur is about my only chance to get you alone.”

  It was notable however that on none of these chances to be alone, did he attempt to renew the passion in their relationship. He never tried to touch her, kiss her. He never even took her hand. He drove her to her house. She said goodnight and got out.

  At least that was mostly what happened. He would usually ask her about the day and she took the opportunity to unload most of the troubles swirling around in her head. Pete was a good listener. She trusted him. And he didn’t jump in with a fix for every problem. Most of them were not easily fixable and he seemed to understand that a lot of working them out was just stating them aloud.

  “Your father is bringing an agenda item up at the next city council meeting to change the definition of sexually oriented businesses,” she told him.

  “I heard a bit about that, but I don’t have the details,” Pete said.

  “Well, I guess now the city’s current definition is based on the amount of clothes you wear. Nudity and seminudity fall into the sexually based business determination.”

  “Okay.”

  “M-CAM was thinking that we are a seminude business,” she said. “But the city attorney says no. The term came into use in lieu of ‘topless’ which was too crude and descriptive to be used in legal documents. Expanding seminudity to include bikinis is just not possible, because they are permitted at public parks and pools. They are, legally, clothes, so wearing them, in the way they were meant to be worn, cannot be considered seminudity.”

  “So that’s good.”

  “It’s completely good,” Andi told him. “It makes us a completely legal downtown business.”

  “So what’s my dad’s next move?”

  “He wants to change the definition from what we have on to what our motivation might be,” she said. “He wants to have the definition of sexually oriented businesses to be based on whether or not they appeal to ‘prurient interest.’”

  “How does that work?” Pete asked.

  “I don’t think it will,” Andi said. “One man’s ‘prurient interest’ is another man’s ordinary enthusiasm. Can you close down a movie theater for showing R-rated films? Or shut down a restaurant because one of the waitresses has big boobs?”

  “I think there are some people in this town who would be all for that,” Pete said.

  Andi nodded. “And the crazy thing about this for me,” she said, “is that if this were happening to somebody else, I don’t know which side I’d be on. I’ve never been the ‘hot mama’ type. I’ve always thought that women who came to business meetings in short skirts were undermining the workplace for all of us.”

  “Different kinds of jobs have different dress requirements,” Pete said. “The cashiers at Guthrie’s wear slacks and polo shirts. The women in the bakery have on white coats and plastic hairnets. And Miss Kepper shows up in a business suit when it’s a hundred degrees outside.”

  “Ah…Miss Kepper,” Andi said. “That woman is a thorn in my side. The brains behind your father without a doubt.”

  Pete nodded agreement. “She is really a nice person,” he assured her. “She wouldn’t be involved in this except for him.”

  “I don’t know,” Andi said. “She didn’t like me on sight. And I wore my very best dress to my job interview.”

  Pete leaned forward slightly and turned to stare at her. Even in the dim light of the dashboard she could see the surprise in his face.

  “Job interview? You had a job interview? With Guthrie Foods?”

  “Yeah, about a month and a half ago,” she said.

  “I never saw your application.”

  Andi shrugged. “Figures,” she said. “It was a part-time position, mostly setting up ads for the paper. I was way over qualified, but she was definitely not impressed.”

  “You’ve got experience in advertising? I thought you were like a math teacher or something?”

  “A math teacher?” Andi was surprised. “No, no. I still like math, but in college I guess I got bitten by the business bug. I got a summer job as a runner at the Chicago Board of Trade. I just found it incredibly fascinating, so I changed my major.”

  “You went into advertising?”

  “I dabbled in it,” she said. “I took an internship on the Miracle Mile, but ultimately I decided that I wanted to run businesses, not just hawk them. S
o I took a job at Milo Corp and worked myself up to a really nice position as a corporate contributions professional.”

  “That’s a terrific breadth of experience,” Pete said.

  Andi chuckled humorlessly. “Yes and all that fabulous education and experience has brought me here, to arguing that a piece of red string in my butt crack qualifies as clothing.”

  He reached over and took her hand. “Don’t get discouraged,” he said. “Lots of people are on your side, lots of people you don’t hear a word from. It’s only those who are offended who are making noise. Wait, let me qualify that statement. Those who are offended, plus my dad and Miss Kepper.”

  Andi laughed.

  Walt pulled the truck to a stop at the curb in front of faded, crumbling row houses.

  “Mrs. McKenna,” Jelly announced.

  For a person who could not read or write, she had a fantastic memory. She knew every house on every street they visited and all the clients who lived there.

  The two got out and walked to the back of the truck. Walt let down the tailgate and opened the hot food compartment of the delivery cabinet and began retrieving the container with the day’s entree and vegetables. He set them on a tray.

  Jelly opened a white paper bag which he filled from the adjacent cold food compartment—a half pint of milk, a container of sliced fruit, a couple of pats of butter. From a giant plastic bag a dinner roll was added on top.

  “Okay, that will do it for Mrs. McKenna,” he said.

  “Pop!” Jelly complained. “She is going to want her dessert.”

  “You could tell her we were robbed and then we could eat it,” he teased.

  “We don’t joke about our job,” his daughter said firmly.

  “No, we don’t,” Walt agreed. “We’ve got a little bit of pudding here to give her.”

  “That’s good,” Jelly said. “’Cause I think she eats that first.”

  Pop made sure both compartment doors were fully closed. Maintaining quality temperature during the food transport was one of the most important aspects of his job. Afterward, he just leaned against the truck and watched his daughter work.