The Bikini Car Wash

by Pamela Morsi

  “That’s what I want to sell,” he said. “I want to sell, ‘hey, you want to come to Guthrie’s because it’s not a miserable, boring experience to buy groceries.’”

  Andi chuckled. Pete heaved a sigh of relief when he heard it. He was worried that having mentioned the effects of their fabulous hookup, she might just turn off from listening to the rest.

  “I don’t think ‘miserable’ and ‘boring’ are words typically suggested for any advertising slogan,” she said.

  “Right,” he agreed. “And this is where I get stuck. How do I say the positive things that I need to say, without pointing out the negatives of the status quo?”

  She took out a pad of paper, tore off a few pieces for him. Pete dug his pen out of his pocket.

  “Let’s take, like, a minute and write down positive words,” she suggested.

  They did that. Then they looked at their lists, marked the synonyms, and came up with two that shared large places on each list.

  “Friend and home,” she said.

  Pete chuckled. “That sounds more like your dad’s job with the meals on wheels.”

  Andi laughed, too. “I think we can work with this,” she said. “I think we can come up with a slogan that says these two things to people.”

  Pete liked how she used the word we. You should have put that one on your positive list, Peterson, he thought.

  “But now we’re back to the mock-up,” he said. “Even if we have a great slogan, just printing it in big letters on our grocery ad doesn’t change a thing.”

  Andi agreed.

  The two sat together silently staring at the mock-up.

  “How big do these coupons have to be?” she asked suddenly.

  “Huh? How big? I don’t think size matters.”

  “At least in coupons,” she said, grinning.

  “What!” He laughed, feigning insult. He was sure that her sudden influx of humor meant she had a great idea.

  “Why don’t we change the ad to be less about groceries and more about people.”

  “Oooookay,” he said, slowly thoughtfully.

  “What if part of the ad was a lighthearted look at some of your employees. ‘Joe Smith, butcher, wins local bowling tournament.’ Or ‘Jane Jones, cashier sees youngest of four sons sworn in as Eagle Scout.’”

  “Now that’s an interesting idea,” he said.

  “It forces everybody on the staff to pay more attention to each other and it draws the customers into that familiarity. ‘Yeah, I know Joe, he’s the guy who butterflies those pork chops for me.’”

  “Oh, wow. That could be great,” Pete agreed.

  “You wouldn’t have to use your whole page. Just a little portion of news up here, maybe a photo.”

  Pete was nodding, the synapses in his brain now firing at warp speed. “It would draw people to the ad. Even those who don’t clip coupons or look for bargains would stop on this page.”

  “And it’s easily transferable to your Web site,” she said. “Those people who get their news from the Web instead of the local paper would have a reason to stop by your site. And if you’re going to go to the trouble to put up weekly news, of course you can put up your specials and your printable coupons.”

  “That’s a great idea,” he said. “It’s an absolutely great idea.”

  “It makes Guthrie’s itself a source of hometown news,” Andi said. “None of those national retailers are going to be able to do that.”

  “Hometown news,” Pete repeated, just above a whisper. “Guthrie Foods Hometown Friends.”

  She nodded. “How about…maybe… Shop at Guthrie’s: Wholesome Foods from Hometown Friends.”

  “That’s great!” he said. “That’s just exactly what I want to say.” He repeated the words aloud.

  Andi nodded and laughed. “It is great.”

  “It’s exactly it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Once you hear it, it’s so obvious.”

  They were both laughing, celebrating the success of their collaboration and repeating the words and marveling at how perfect they were in conveying the feeling they wanted. In a rush of certifiable silliness they even tried them in different voices. First a high halting soprano, then low and languid as Barry White, with a thick Polish accent like immigrant grandparents and even as quacky as Donald Duck, the words were good.

  In the midst of those buoyant moments, without forethought or agenda, Pete leaned forward and kissed her. It seemed totally reasonable and natural. Yet as soon as their lips touched, it was something more.

  A friendly peck instantly turned into total recall of the well-matched passion they’d shared.

  “Bad idea,” she told him as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Sorry, so sorry,” he whispered against her throat.

  The rain against the windows provided the barest minimum of isolation, but it was enough to make both of them incautious. Pete’s brain was fuzzy with testosterone, but still he marveled at how good she was at this. How naturally she seemed to know just how to move her lips against his own.

  Within minutes she’d moved from the nearby chair to his lap. He was crazy for her, but not just nuts in general.

  “Let’s go to my house,” he said. “Let me go get the car and we’ll go to my house.”

  “It’s the middle of the morning,” she pointed out.

  “We’re making out in front of windows on the busiest corner in Plainview,” he countered.

  “We shouldn’t.”

  “Maybe not, but let’s do it anyhow.”

  They second-guessed each other through the entire trip. So much so that by they time they made it to the door of his bedroom, neither one could get away with suggestions that they were swept up in the moment or that they didn’t know what they were doing. No more excuses of being intoxicated with passion.

  He wanted it.

  She wanted it.

  They did it. And did it. And did it.

  Pete’s cell phone beeped at him a number of times which he ignored. Finally as they lay exhausted, naked and drenched in sweat, it rang again, He picked it up, glancing at the caller ID. He cleared his throat and then hit the talk button.

  “Miss Kepper, is there a problem?”

  The problem was that he’d disappeared and hadn’t answered his phone for three hours.

  “I went out to SuperMart to check out that new display promotion we heard about,” he told her. “I locked my keys and my phone in the car. I’ve been waiting in the rain for a locksmith. I’ve got to go by the house and get showered and changed. I’ll be in the office later.”

  When he clicked the end button, he tossed the phone back on the floor and rolled over to face the naked woman on the other side of the bed.

  “That was a pretty good lie on such short notice.”

  Pete leaned up on one elbow. “It must be genetic,” he said. “I always wondered how my dad could always come up with the most outrageous stories just out of nowhere. I’m now convinced that sexual motivation must be a tremendous spark to creative lying.”

  She smiled at him. She was gorgeous. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and dreamy. Her pale skin, framed by tan lines, was still flushed with evidence of her last orgasm.

  “I could get used to this,” she told him.

  “I sure hope that you do,” he agreed. “Repeat business, that’s what I’m all about.”

  She laughed.

  “You know, I never imagined that being in bed with a woman who was laughing was anything but humiliating.”

  “You’re not humiliated?” she said. “What about if I ask for another go, just a quickie. Are you up for that?”

  “A shower is about the only thing I’m still up for,” he admitted.

  But she joined him in the hot water and proved to him that he wasn’t completely played out. It was nearly another hour before the two were dressed and headed out to his car.

  They were both still laughing and teasing as they left the front porch. They ran ar
m in arm like silly teenagers. Then, as he held open the passenger door for her, he couldn’t resist stealing a kiss.

  As he straightened he came eye to eye across a distance of barely twenty yards with his neighbor.

  Her expression was so shocked and incredulous, Pete thought to himself, Jeez lady, have you never seen me bring a woman home?

  Then he realized that she hadn’t. In all the years he’d lived there, Andi was the only one.

  And with the two of them all kissy and fresh from the shower, it was undoubtedly obvious that it had been a little afternoon delight. Just the kind of thing that set tongues to wag in small towns.

  “Afternoon, Mrs. Joffee,” he called out. Thankful that the woman could be trusted not to further damage Andi’s growing reputation.

  It was standing room only in the city council chambers. Walt was glad he’d decided to leave Jelly at home. She did not do well in noisy crowds of people, and if the crowd began verbally attacking Andi, as Walt suspected they would, he was certain his daughter would jump to her twin’s defense. Social conflict was difficult to sort out, but for those with intellectual impairments it could sometimes be impossible.

  The Merchants and Citizens Alliance for Morality were in attendance, carrying signs and wearing matching T-shirts that declared No Near Nudity In Our Neighborhood! Plenty of others had also squeezed in. Whether they had picked a side or just wanted to see the show was not immediately evident. But the air-conditioning of the old building was not sufficient to cool the tempers of the more strident in the crowd.

  Beside him, his smart, clever, beautiful Andi was calm. So deliberately calm, it felt unnatural. He wanted to grab her and hug her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to lash out at those who were being unfair to her. The padded bumpers inside her crib had once softened any hard knocks from an unwise move. But she was not his little baby anymore. She was a grown-up woman who had to face the consequences of the decisions that she made. She had to stand up for herself. And because he loved her, he would stand beside her.

  Walt glanced at the crowd behind him once more and spotted Rachel at the back near the door. Their eyes met and he allowed himself the tiniest of smiles just for the sight of her. She was here for Andi, too. Though his daughter didn’t know it.

  With the hammer of the gavel and an official notation of the time, Gunderson-Smythe called the meeting to order. Walt was old enough to remember her when the mayor was a gangly teenager with acne and braces. She seemed very self-possessed now and not in the least intimidated by the size of the gathering.

  They all stood for the pledge of allegiance. Then the minutes of the last meeting were approved. Before they could move to the first item, Alderman Gensekie requested a change in the agenda.

  “It just seems to me, Penny,” he said, addressing the mayor by her given name, which sounded to Walt’s ears to be slightly misogynist and generally disrespectful. “That most of these good people have come here to be heard on item number four. It behooves us, as public servants, not to waste their time and move that discussion to the beginning of the meeting.”

  There was a smattering of applause. To which the mayor quickly responded with her gavel.

  “There will be no outbursts of any kind in this meeting,” she warned. “No clapping. No speaking out. No demonstrations. Any violators will be immediately removed from the room.”

  Her sternness may have been as much to counter Gensekie’s informality as to acquaint those new to the council chambers with the standard rules. The mayor turned to the man at the end of the table with a look that would have withered most in the room.

  “Is that a motion, Alderman Gensekie?”

  The white-haired man in thick glasses and a seersucker suit, chuckled in a strange, almost sneering, way.

  “Sure, if that’s the way you want it, Penny,” he said. “I so move.”

  “Second,” Hank Guthrie piped in quickly.

  The mayor’s sigh was almost undetectable. “It has been moved and seconded that item four on the agenda be moved up for immediate consideration. Do we have discussion?”

  The council was silent.

  “All in favor?”

  “Aye,” was the unanimous response.

  The mayor snapped down her gavel. “If the clerk will read item four, please.”

  A short, round woman wearing a snug-fitting business suit and teetering on high heels made her way to the microphone.

  “Proposed,” she read. “An amendment to City Zoning Code Section 21-4.1. DEFINITIONS. To add ‘or any business relying upon prurient interest or directly appealing to prurient interest. Any business whose public presence is salacious or encourages salaciousness.’ And to add Section 21-4.8 OTHER. ‘Any other shop or business of any kind that council shall deem to be inappropriate in the zone in which it is proposed to open. Said shop or business will be restricted to Zone D2 only and will not be permitted within one thousand feet of any school, church, child-care facility, public building, historic landmark or city park.’ Amendment submitted by Alderman Henry Peterson Guthrie, III.”

  With that the clerk left the podium.

  The mayor thanked her. “Do we have a list of citizens to be heard on this issue?”

  As the mayor perused the list, there was a bit of a tussle in the crowd and a couple of polite excuse me’s before young Guthrie appeared at the end of row next to Andi. Her briefcase had been occupying that chair and she’d politely refused it to several people. She immediately put it on the floor, as if she’d been holding the place for him. He smiled at her as he seated himself removing any doubt that the seat was saved for him.

  That exchange piqued Walt’s interest. Of course, the fellow would be interested in Andi. She was, in Walt’s perhaps slightly prejudiced opinion, the brightest, best-looking single girl in town. But the idea that Andi might be interested in him. That was new. Neither of his daughters had had a date in high school. He’d never got to play the protective papa frowning over his newspaper at a pimply swain waiting nervously in his living room. Jelly’s only boyfriend was Tony and she testified early on that kissing him was stupid. Andi had never talked of kissing at all. She’d spent all her teenage years in blue jeans or coveralls. And he wasn’t deaf to the gossip that she was gay. Despite lack of evidence to the contrary, he’d never quite believed it. He really didn’t care. If there was anything a man could learn from having a disabled daughter, it was how to have perspective. Andi had always been a wonderful daughter. Throughout her childhood their family lives had completely revolved around Jelly. If Andi resented the lack of attention, the constant requirement to accede to the needs of others, she never voiced it. But he and Ella had both understood when she took the first chance to get away, and why she chose a college some distance from Plainview and a life’s work that would always keep her far away from her hometown.

  But she was home now. And she was the first person the mayor called upon to speak. Walt watched her as she made her way to the podium, notes in hand and head held high. She was wearing her sleek, tailored blue dress that she saved for occasions that called for self-confidence. Andi had that tonight in spades. She gave no indication of stress or concern. There was not one hurried move or clumsy gesture to indicate the height of the stakes. Win or lose, Walt couldn’t imagine a prouder moment.

  “Mayor Gunderson-Smythe, Aldermen of the Council,” she addressed with due deference. “I thank you very much for the opportunity to speak in opposition to Alderman Guthrie’s prurient interest amendment.”

  Walt hid a smile. First one to speak always got to name the discussion. Walt was pretty sure that Hank Guthrie would be more interested in calling this amendment something like “public decency” or a more neutral “restrictive zoning.”

  He glanced over at Greta Steiner, reporter for the Plainview Public Observer who was writing that down. “Prurient interest amendment.”

  Score one for Andi’s side.

  Walt listened as Andi made her points. The current zoning ordinance o
n sexually oriented businesses had served the community admirably well for over forty years. The definition utilized during that time was specific to certain types of businesses that were actively involved in the sale of sexually oriented materials or nude entertainment. Her business was washing cars.

  Gensekie began the questioning with a snort that could only be interpreted as skeptical.

  “So, young lady, you’re trying to convince this council that all you’re doing out there on the public street, mostly naked, is washing cars?”

  “I’m not ‘trying to convince’ you,” Andi said evenly. “I’m stating as a fact on the record that is exactly what we are doing.”

  “Most people who wash cars don’t choose to do so wearing a skimpy bathing suit,” the alderman pointed out.

  Andi nodded. “And most gentlemen sitting on this council don’t choose to wear a bow tie, sir. But I doubt you would want to infer that alters the type of job you do.”

  Gensekie’s hand immediately went to his throat and he glanced quickly down the table as if noticing for the first time that he was the only man sporting the atypical neckwear.

  The man’s brow furrowed and his superior grin flattened in anger.

  “A bow tie is not a bikini!”

  “No sir, it is not,” Andi agreed. “So I can assure you that I will not wear one to wash cars.”

  A ripple of laughter swept through the crowd. The mayor tapped her gavel threateningly. Gensekie’s face was beet-red. She had gotten the better of him and he didn’t like it.

  “Have you no shame, young woman?” he asked, pointing his finger at her accusingly. “You are not fooling anyone. You’re little better than a stripper or a prostitute luring young boys into sin!”

  “If I am luring anyone into anything,” Andi replied evenly, “I’m luring them into driving through our streets in cleaner cars. That could be considered community beautification.”

  “Miss Wolkowicz,” the mayor growled sternly. “You have already made your statement, please limit your response to questions specifically asked.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Andi nodded politely.

  “Alderman Pannello,” the mayor said. “I believe you have a few questions.”