by P. J. Morse
“We were all worried,” Greg said. For a moment, I thought he might apologize for the argument we had the night before, but he went right back to business. “There are bags with bikinis in there. Your names are on each bag.”
I hadn’t even brushed my teeth, yet I was going to be the bikini fairy. “Goody! New clothes!” I chirped, hoping I could erase the sarcasm from my voice. I skipped through the house and took particular joy at barging into Tina and Topaz’s room. “Green bikini day!” I yelled, throwing open their curtains so the sun would shine on their faces.
They began to stir, and I tossed them the bikini bags with their names stitched on them. Then I headed back and gave bikinis to Cookie, Lorelai and Andi.
Since I was up first, I took the opportunity to shower and put on my bikini. I was horrified. This green bikini functioned about as well as three postage stamps and some floss. I had to perform some emergency personal landscaping to avoid embarrassment.
I threw open the bathroom door. “Lookin’ good,” Cookie chuckled. “Hell, that’s more than I wear most nights.”
“That’s less than I wear most nights!” I protested, grateful that Cookie didn’t seem angry anymore. “So are we okay now?”
“Yes,” she said. Instead of elaborating, Cookie began to brush her hair and changed the subject. “Being naked, or kind of naked, is just like public speaking. You just have to imagine everyone else naked.”
“I’ll try,” I said. Maybe she lashed out at me over Wolf because she hadn’t slept enough. Or maybe she had something to be defensive about.
Lorelai walked toward the bathroom with her bikini in her hand. She saw me slouching, instinctively trying to hide parts that I normally did not put on display. “You really should have thought about this before signing up for the show,” she said.
I ignored her. This holier-than-thou business was starting to annoy me. I saw Hare nod, as if he were thinking of ways to exploit this plot point that Cookie and I were getting sick of Lorelai, the reality-show expert.
Then Andi walked past, probably on her way to the bar or to the hedge. She had put her hair in ponytails, one on each side of her head, only she had used the bikini top and the bikini bottom as her ponytail holders. Still in her Garfield shirt, she looked like an eight-year-old with a hormonal disorder. “Andi!” I yelled.
She looked up and then looked at me in the bikini. “Oh! I get it!”
“Yeah.” I said. I hoped that they got her a bikini big enough to skirt the obscenity laws. Then Cookie and I helped her untangle the bikini pieces from her hair extensions.
By the time we all got ready and helped Andi figure out her bikini, we were chilly, so we had covered ourselves up with a mix of pajama tops, cardigans and hoodies. Tina and Andi had already started drinking, and it wasn’t a terrible idea because they could at least warm up. Even on a nice day, those skimpy bikinis were going to leave us cold.
We climbed into the van, which was piloted by Greg. By the time the heater thawed us, we had driven across the bay into Berkeley. Greg pulled into the parking lot for the Berkeley Bowl, a big natural-foods store. Also sitting in the lot was the newly repaired stretch Hummer. It never looked more out of place as aging hippies and organic food enthusiasts gawked at it. I saw Fred, Patrick, Wolf, a woman in a flowing green dress with a halter top, and a boy who looked to be about ten years old.
We stepped out and began to shed our clothes while the camera crew set up. Patrick put on a green T-shirt that proclaimed in white letters, “Lean, Mean, and Green,” and I wished I could have had one of those.
The setup took longer than usual because Greg was juggling so many duties. Finally, he gathered us up, and Patrick began a speech. “Welcome to the Lean, Mean, and Green Car Wash Fundraiser. The six of you will break up into two teams of three. Cookie, Lorelai, and Katherine are the sweet, sweet Sugar Cookies.”
“Of course!” Cookie laughed. But she shot me a look, which I read. She would have preferred working with Andi, who was dumb, but at least she wasn’t as irritating as Lorelai.
Patrick continued, “Since they’re such bombshells, Topaz, Tina, and Andi are T-and-T. Now, each team will go to different parts of Berkeley, where you’ll hold a car wash. Whoever raises the most money gets a date with me, and, of course, the team captain gets a private date.”
We clapped. I noticed that, as our numbers decreased, both in terms of the competition and in terms of injuries, we were having trouble keeping up the enthusiasm.
“Two special guests are joining us for today’s challenge.” Patrick pointed to the woman and the boy. “This is Haruko Morgan, Sean Morgan’s wife, and their son, Rex. They’ve established Lean, Mean, and Green in Sean’s memory.”
Lorelai squealed. “How wonderful!”
“Kiss up,” Topaz muttered under her breath. I had to agree.
Haruko smiled and held up a spray bottle and a sponge. “Obviously, car washes waste water and put pollutants back in the earth. But, we’ve been working on formulating a product that can clean your car with a minimal amount of water, Eco Car Cleanser.” She gave the bottle a good shake, and the green solution inside frothed. “So, part of the judging will take into account how many buckets of water you use to clean the cars. The less you use, the better.”
She didn’t seem to notice that she was being filmed while standing in front of a stretch Hummer, an environmental nightmare if there ever was one. Then she stepped aside, as if she weren’t much for being on camera. I felt a little embarrassed being around her because she seemed so elegant. A woman that beautiful didn’t need a dating show to land a rock singer. I hoped she and her kid got a little money out of this deal. I remembered how she was on television, crying after Sean Morgan killed himself, saying she didn’t understand why her husband left when he had so much to live for.
Wolf handed us banners that screamed “Lean, Mean, and Green,” and we got back in the van, which dropped us in different parts of Berkeley. The Sugar Cookies wound up on Shattuck Avenue, relatively close to UC Berkeley’s campus, so we were going to draw the professors and college students.
Thanks to our bikinis, it wasn’t long before we had customers. We sponged down an old Honda Civic for some frat guys. They said that it was okay to wash their car while wearing bikinis because they were from Southern California and they were appreciative. They didn’t even seem to mind that Eco Car Cleaner just left dirt smears on the car.
After our frat guys, a brigade of angry Berkeley moms and dads came by and started picketing us, at a moment’s notice. One sign read “WOMAN POWER ≠ BIKINI POWER.” Another read “THIS AIN’T NO HOOTERS.”
I asked one of the picketers, “How did you organize so fast?”
“That’s what we do! Put a shirt on!” The woman with the “NO HOOTERS” sign yelled.
“I do have a shirt on!” I protested.
“One bigger than a Band-Aid!” she snorted.
“You’re exaggerating! This bikini is as big as two Band-Aids!” With so little sleep, I was already geared up for a fight. Maybe everyone else in the mansion was right to call me crazy.
The angry moms waved their signs even harder. Some police officers pulled up, and we offered them a free wash, but they declined.
Since it got slow and more people were watching the police and protesters, Tortoise gave us a marker and some poster board. I drew up a sign that read “Car wash $5,” and Lorelai walked it to the street.
I expected Lorelai to just stand there, but then she started dancing, lowering her bottom and then sweeping it back and forth like she was trying to clean the pavement with her rump. The protesters booed, and probably not because of the indecent exposure. Lorelai may have been experienced in the ways of reality television, and she may have been able to bake a tasty batch of brownies, but she had absolutely no rhythm.
Cookie stood to the side, horrified. “Some things need to be left to professionals. I’m stopping her before she embarrasses us.”
Lorelai didn’t want to
give up the sign. While Cookie tried to reason with her, I got stuck rinsing out sponges with as little water as I could. I used a hose the crew set up to squirt water into buckets, and I’d already been through two of them. If part of the challenge was to minimize water consumption, we were already in trouble.
The stretch Hummer pulled up, and a crew hopped out so Patrick, Wolf, Haruko and Rex could judge our work. “Let’s check in with the Sugar Cookies!” Patrick shouted. They were going to have to dub that in later since so many cars were honking at the traffic we’d caused on Shattuck, and there was no way Tortoise could pick that up with his boom mic.
Even the sight of a brewing catfight between Cookie and Lorelai wasn’t enough to draw paying customers. Greg immediately began negotiating with the cops so we could stay a little longer.
After he calmed down the police, Greg asked, “Can we at least get a car here for a shot?”
At that moment, an SUV pulled up, standing out among all of the sensible cars and hippie vans. Probably a dad visiting his kid at the university. The guy pulled up alongside me and rolled down the passenger window. I felt a cool breeze from the air conditioner. With his polo shirt, Ray-Bans and phone clipped to his ear, I sensed he was a corporate raider. He could have at least spent a little money on a better toupee. “Hey, baby,” the man said, “You do it topless, and I’ll give you an extra twenty.”
I stepped back. “Let me think about it,” I said. I bent down, making like I was about to take off my top, but I surprised him instead with a cold blast from my garden hose. He screeched off. “And don’t come back!” I shouted after the car. I looked at the camera. “You can count that as a whole bucket! Pig!” A few protestors applauded.
Lorelai rushed up to me and yelled, “How could you do that? What about the money for Haruko? And you just wasted water!”
I resisted the temptation to squirt her in the face and wreck her makeup, which had remained remarkably sweat resistant despite the heat. “That was worth wasting water!” I shouted.
“But Haruko’s cause!” she cried.
“I’m all for the environment, but I’m not taking off my top for any old geezer, and especially not in front of a kid!” I jerked my head toward Rex, whose eyes had grown huge at the spectacle.
Lorelai moved closer. I could tell she wanted to push me, but that would get her kicked off. Instead, she put her hands on her hips. “You should learn to prioritize. You ruined what would have been a good moment! You’re impulsive! You’re trashy!”
“You’re standing on the side of the road sweeping the street with your ass, and you’re calling me trashy?” I shouted back.
Lorelai took a step away and folded her arms. Tortoise and Hare kept themselves at a reasonably safe distance, and, even then, Lorelai positioned herself so the camera could have the best possible view. She said, “You always put yourself first. You put yourself over the environment, you put yourself over Haruko, and you put yourself over Patrick.”
“I just got insulted by some douchebag — what, would you have taken your top off for twenty?”
“That’s cheap!” Cookie called out from the side of the road.
“You would know,” Lorelai said.
“And what does that mean?” Cookie threw down the sign and immediately started walking over.
We had gone a long time without anyone pulling the “you’re a stripper” card, which was a standard of many dating shows. Despite the presence of a pole, the abundance of alcohol, and the supply of silicone in the house, being a stripper was supposedly a negative. Furthermore, Cookie never once touched the mansion’s pole, probably because she had been there and done that.
“Everyone knows what you do for a living,” Lorelai said. She tossed her sponge to the ground. The camera crew swarmed in, and I got out of the way. The fight was no longer about me. I looked at Patrick, Haruko, and Rex. Like any guy awaiting a catfight, Patrick was fixated on the action, but Haruko threw her hand over her son’s eyes. If Lorelai wanted to put Haruko’s cause first, she was doing a terrible job of it.
“I’m proud of what I do!” Cookie yelled. “I am one of the best in Houston! I make damn good money, and I manage myself!”
“Yay, rah. You know what, no one from the Nuclear Kings would have touched you then, and Patrick’s not gonna touch you now. I cannot imagine what your son…”
A reference to Cookie’s son crossed the line. Without any warning, Cookie sailed several feet across the parking lot. Her legs were like a gazelle’s, probably from years on the pole. She was muscular, unlike Lorelai, who was merely thin. She pinned Lorelai on the ground within seconds, grabbed a fistful of her hair and started pounding away.
“Whoa! Ladies!” Patrick rushed up, but Wolf emerged from the limo and grabbed Cookie’s waist. Cookie kept kicking at Lorelai, and Patrick was pulling Lorelai back, but that was difficult because Cookie would not let go of Lorelai’s hair.
“Don’t you ever say I’m not a good mom! I’d like to see you try being a mom, you selfish bitch!” Cookie screamed.
“Let it go! C’mon, let it go, it’s not worth it!” Wolf told her.
Cookie finally let Lorelai’s hair go, but she kept on screaming and thrashing. “You try waking up every hour on the hour to settle a baby! You try taking him to the hospital when he’s got strep! You try to make sure he doesn’t stick his fingers in his mouth without washing! You try to make chicken soup with extra carrots! You try to do that after his daddy dies in Iraq! No one mothers a kid like I do — you hear me?”
I tried to grab Cookie’s arm, which was flying around everywhere. “Cookie, I think she got the message!”
Indeed she had. Lorleai was crying and blubbering something about how no one understood her, and that she was always trying so hard to do the right thing, blah, blah, blah. I didn’t see her as much of a victim in this scenario. Cookie was a good mom. I barely knew her, but I knew that from all her stories. She told me she set up her son with his grandma and his aunt while she was on the show, and she called him every night to make sure he did his homework and didn’t watch too much television. She said her nickname at the strip joint where she worked was “Soccer Mom.”
“C’mon, Cookie,” I said. “Your son will be proud you stood up for yourself.”
Cookie seemed to settle down, but the snarl stayed on her face. She let go of Lorelai’s hair, and she let Wolf carry her to the Hummer. But, as Wolf tried to carry her off, she threw her arms around my neck and whispered in my ear, “I barked up the wrong penis. I screwed up. He’s all yours. I’m so sorry.”
I could only assume she meant Patrick was mine. But what was that about screwing up? Did it refer to yelling at me? Or whaling on Lorelai? And what about Wolf stealing her underwear?
Hare sang out, “And another one bites the dust!”
“What?” I asked.
“She hit someone,” he said. “She’s gone. Toast.”
Haruko walked up to Lorelai and Patrick. At first, I thought she was going to ask if Lorelai was okay, but instead she said, “You didn’t have to bring up her son.”
Lorelai looked like she’d been slapped in the face. “But… I did the right thing.”
Haruko shook her head and looked at Greg. “I don’t want this team to win. Can you arrange that?”
“I don’t think it’s going to be that hard,” Greg said. He pulled out a cell phone, presumably to start talking to whoever was in charge at the other car wash site.
“For someone who keeps talking about how good she is, you’re really kind of an asshole,” I told Lorelai. “Now start washing cars.” I threw a sponge at her, and it struck her in the stomach. Then I picked up my sponge and bucket and took to the street with our sign.
I wasn’t there long. Greg told me to hang it up, and we returned to the van to pick up the other car-wash team.
The drive back was awkward and tense. Lorelai sat in the back, crying because it wasn’t clear if she was staying or leaving. She never threw a punch, but she starte
d a fight, and that had to count for something.
I sat by myself. I was sick of everyone. I was also worried that Cookie was off somewhere alone with Wolf, who had been hoarding her thong and agitating for more screen time.
“Aw, look at Cookie’s stray crumb. Crumbs look so lonely,” Tina giggled.
“Would you shut up for once?” I asked.
“Bye-bye, Cookie and Lorelai! Two out in one day, people!” Topaz clapped her hands. “Only the strong survive!”
Andi held out her hand and counted up to three on her fingers. “Topaz, you mean three,” she said. “You forgot Dawn. It’s Cookie, Lorelai and Dawn.” Then Andi sighed. “I miss Dawn.”
“I haven’t been kicked out yet!” Lorelai yelled from the back of the van. “Besides, they can’t eliminate two at once: not this late in the game. They still need to shoot four more episodes. They’re going to have to give me a second chance.”
It made sense. And, if Lorelai were the other detective that Wolf hired, she wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe she provoked Cookie on purpose, to protect her cover. It wasn’t smart for Wolf to blab that there was a second detective. If he told me, there was no telling who else he told. Getting in a fight with Cookie certainly made her look more like one of us.
Then I had to remind myself that I wasn’t “one of us,” either.
Chapter Twenty-Four:
Ex-Boyfriend for Hire
That night, we went through a charade of an elimination ceremony, in which Patrick dangled Lorelai on a string and made it seem like she would go, but he kept her after a long lecture about the dangers of taunting people. No one wound up leaving since Cookie had been ejected from the competition. Then Greg told us to prepare for the arrival of some old friends — probably ones who would reveal our darkest secrets.
Once five of us were left, I knew we were facing one of two choices: The ex show or the parents show. When Kevin first hired me, he asked me who to call for the last few episodes. He wanted a few options so he could pick someone reasonably telegenic.
