Bikini Carwash (That Business Between Us)

by Pamela Morsi

  By the time he reached the store, minus the detour to drive by her house, he was convinced that nothing whatsoever could darken his mood.

  The Sunday Morning Slugs, a designation this shift of workers had more or less proudly named themselves, were accustomed to a more languid pace. Traffic in the store was always light until after eleven and shopper and staff alike were always a little bit sleepy, a little bit quiet.

  That was not at all how Pete felt. He was in a great mood, full of energy, full of enthusiasm. He was joking, laughing, truly enjoying himself at a job he loved. And if the thong bikini bottom tucked way down in his right pants pocket was a part of that, then so be it.

  The whole mood of the store lifted. All the smiles were genuine and all the offers of assistance were sincere. It was exactly what he wanted for Guthrie Foods every day of the year. It was the high concept that he’d been searching for and he was surprised and amazed to find it existed inside him.

  By the time Phoebe arrived, he was eager to go up to his office and get his ideas down on paper.

  The entire upstairs was dark and empty. The blinds were drawn in his office. He opened them and immediately spotted the Jungle Jeff Safari binoculars on the windowsill.

  If you couldn't resist looking before, how will you ever keep your eyes off her now? he asked himself.

  He opened a package of Mallomars and sat down at his desk to concentrate. On a notepad bearing the logo of a prominent food conglomerate, Pete wrote down his thoughts about his own responsibility for calibrating the atmosphere at Guthrie Foods. Somehow there had to be a way to make friendliness and familiarity as much of a product in their store as coffee or bread. And to use image and advertising to sell that product.

  He noted every idea that came through his head, the brilliant, the so-so and the completely idiotic. It was the only way he knew to push his mind from the mundane into the creative.

  He tapped his pen thoughtfully upon the desk. This was a start, but he really needed to brainstorm it with someone. What a luxury that would be! Bouncing ideas off with a coworker that he trusted would be such a help. Just seeing a reaction to the things he said would be beneficial.

  His father came to mind, but he quickly discarded that idea. Nothing he could ever come up with would appeal to his father. Hank was way too competitive to engage in collaboration. He would dismiss everything out of hand just because it came from Pete.

  Maybe he could talk with Miss Kepper. But he wouldn’t be unguarded enough. He couldn’t imagine himself voicing his less brilliant thoughts in front of her. It would be like discussing boogers with your teacher. Just not done.

  Perhaps he should try a discussion with one of the assistant managers. Neal? Harvey? He’d have to think about that.

  Pete worked on his notes for a few minutes more, until he was down to just doodling in the margins. It was time to put it away and move on to more pleasant tasks. He felt for the swimsuit in his pocket and smiled. Returning the woman’s property was a top priority.

  Whistling, he went to the bathroom and combed his hair. He eyed himself critically in the mirror. He was no longer the high school hunk. Now he was just a goofy grocery man. But he felt more comfortable as the latter.

  A goofy grocery man with an important errand, he thought to himself. Within minutes he left the store and made his way down to Jubal Street between 11th and 12th. Finding the house was not as easy as he thought. In the darkness he hadn’t noticed a color and the structures on this block, though all distinctive, were all two-story row houses with front porches and narrow driveways. Wolkowicz’s truck was nowhere in sight. He was about ready to start knocking on doors, when a flash of something red caught his eye. A small bit of material seemed to be caught in the bushes near one set of porch steps.

  It’s a good thing your throwing arm is still accurate.

  He parked his car in front of the house and walked to the front door. On the way, he rescued the other piece of the thong bikini and stuck it in his other pocket. Now he had a double reason for showing up.

  He rang the doorbell.

  He waited. And waiting made him nervous.

  Maybe you should have brought flowers? he thought. Then quickly discarded the notion. That would be totally lame, Peterson. Get a grip!

  After several minutes he realized that nobody was going to answer. He felt disappointed and then concerned. She’d walked all the way across town in the middle of the night. Something might have happened. It wasn’t as if Plainview was crime-free. He was walking down the steps when he heard the distinct sound of a basketball bouncing against a sidewalk. He recognized it because plenty of his teenage afternoons had been spent on the same activity. He walked around to the side of the porch and peered down the empty driveway toward the garage in the back.

  Dribbling inexpertly was the person who looked like Andi, but not quite.

  Pete walked toward her along the side of the house. The old brick foursquare was well shaded and looked lived in. The trim sported a new coat of paint and the tawny red brick seemed solid. The shrubs had been well tended and the little pots of flowers were indicative of a real appreciation of the place. The basketball hoop was attached to the garage. It looked, Pete thought, about regulation height. A deck on the back of the house overlooked the makeshift court area. A well-worn porch swing served as prime seating for any game.

  “Hi, Jelly,” he said. “Is...is Andi home?”

  She stopped dribbling and looked over at Pete curiously. “Andi’s a slug-a-bed,” she announced. “I know you. That’s why I can tell you that. I don’t talk to strangers when my family is not around. But I know you.”

  “Okay.”

  “You went to my school and now you work at the grocery store,” she continued. “And you watch women’s butts when you run.”

  “Uh...well, not exactly.”

  “Are you here on a material witness warrant?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “No use trying to skate on this one. You’re going down. And you haven’t done hard time until you’ve done it in Dannemora.”

  Pete was practically speechless on that. “Uh...well, I guess I’d better go.”

  “Do you want to play basketball with me?”

  “Basketball?”

  “I remember you played in school and I play, too. I’m really good at it.”

  “If your sister’s asleep, I should really go,” he said.

  “Please. Please, please, please, please, please, please.” She clasped her hands together in supplication. “Pop says I’m not to wake up Andi. But he went out and the TV is full of baseball. And I’ve been looking at my picture books for hours. Please, please, please play basketball with me.”

  Pete was a little uncomfortable. He didn’t recall her ever crying or screaming or really causing trouble in school. But he didn’t really know her and he’d spent almost none of his life around handicapped people. He had no idea how a person was to interact on a one-to-one basis.

  Hey, Peterson, what could a couple of basketball games hurt? he asked himself. He had nothing better to do.

  “Sure,” he said.

  Jelly immediately passed the ball to Pete. He had to leap sideways in order to catch it. But he did catch it which prompted Jelly to inform him of her skill.

  “I’m a really good passer,” she said. “And I make a lot of baskets. Do you make passes?”

  “Sure I do,” Pete said.

  “Okay, pass it to me and I’ll shoot.”

  He sent the ball her way. She dribbled in for a layup. Or perhaps what she thought was a layup. It was mostly just making her way directly under the basket, pausing and shooting straight up. That she missed it didn’t seem to bother her at all. Pete rebounded and gave her another crack at it.

  “I’m waiting on the forensics,” she told him.

  He had no idea what she meant by that. “Well, take a shot while you’re waiting,” he suggested.

  Jelly giggled as if he’d said something very funny.
Maybe he had.

  14

  THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. The distinctive sound of a basketball bouncing against the driveway awakened Andi. She rolled over and a moan escaped her lips. She hurt everywhere. Her arms and legs ached. Her back was sore. Her hips, her stomach, her chest, places she didn’t even know she had muscles had muscle aches. Even inside her, delicate female parts were complaining of overwork. Not a good idea, she decided, to wash cars all day and spend half the night playing sexual acrobat.

  That memory popped her eyes wide open.

  “I had sex with Pete Guthrie,” she said aloud.

  Bad idea. A very bad idea. She’d been exhausted into idiocy. Not him. Not now. In her right mind she would never have done something like that. She had never done something like that. She’d never slept with a guy on a first date.

  “Wait, there was no date,” she reminded herself. He had just walked into her business and she’d fallen into bed with him.

  She threw an arm over her eyes and groaned again, this time more in humiliation than pain.

  He was handsome and sexy and such a good kisser. And she’d been feeling pretty sexy herself. After spending a day half-dressed and attracting a lot of male attention, all those whistles and catcalls must have gone to her head. She didn’t even have the excuse of alcohol. She’d been cold sober and totally drunk on her own sexuality. What a mess!

  Andi pushed off the tangle of sheets that covered her and rolled into a sitting position.

  The thump, thump, thump outside her window continued. She could hear voices, but not what was being said. Occasionally, Jelly’s high-pitched giggle was discernible. Maybe she was playing with Pop. Or perhaps Tony Giolecki was spending the day again.

  Andi got to her feet with the minimum of moans and groans and shuffled to the bathroom in the hallway. She turned on the water in the tub and then sat down on the toilet, holding her face in her hands.

  “What were you thinking?” she asked herself. The very last thing she needed was to get involved with somebody in Plainview. And thank God she was still on the pill. She liked how it kept her regular and kept the blues at bay. Now she was grateful she wouldn’t spend the next few weeks worrying that a careless night would result in lifelong responsibilities. “You are such an idiot!”

  She grabbed a clip from the top of the vanity and wadded her hair together on the top of her head. Discarding her modest cotton nightgown, she stepped into the tub and eased her weary body into the hot water.

  She’d always found something magical, comforting, in the sound of running bath water. It made just enough noise to drown out every other sound in the house, limiting a scary, dangerous world to one warm, safe place that was clean and cozy.

  In her rough, tomboy childhood, it was only here, in the privacy of her bath, that she’d allowed herself to think girly thoughts. To imagine herself as a pretty princess hidden amidst the bath bubbles. There was something wonderful about that. Maybe how hard-won it had been made it more precious to her.

  For most girls, getting privacy in the bath was de rigueur. For Andi it had not been so easy. She was probably ten or eleven when her mom was still insisting that she and Jelly wash up together. Bath time was as much a learning experience as the rest of her sister’s day. Mom insisted that Andi’s life should model appropriate behavior for Jelly. And it didn’t matter if it was in church in school or in the bathroom.

  Andi understood it now, of course. They were a family and Jelly’s disability required the help of the whole family. She’d even understood it then. She loved Jelly and her sister needed her. If Andi didn’t watch her, teach her, show her, then Jelly would make a bad mistake, maybe even a dangerous one.

  Still, she used to fantasize about being an only child.

  When it came to her home and her mom, Andi’s only identity seemed to be as Jelly’s sister.

  It was different at the car wash with Pop. There she knew she was special. And even at school where she excelled academically and kept a low profile socially. All her teachers had adored her. The other students had mostly ignored her.

  What had Pete said last night? In small towns, who you were in high school is who you are forever.

  She wasn’t sure she agreed with that. She was pretty sure that nobody would suspect that the math geek tomboy of her teenage years would have rolled out of a lust-filled bed to walk across town at three o’clock in the morning wearing stolen clothes.

  Andi laughed for the first time that morning.

  In the darkness of Pete’s bedroom, she hadn’t been able to locate her swimsuit. She found her shirt on the floor of the hallway. As she was getting up her courage to walk home bottomless, she’d spotted his running clothes hanging out of the laundry chute. She slipped on his dirty, sweaty oversize clothes and walked out the door.

  She still couldn’t believe she’d had sex with him. And it was difficult to regret it. She’d forgotten how good sex could be. Or maybe it had never been so good. Certainly her college boyfriend, Brent, had never been so thorough. And the affairs she’d had since had been less than spectacular, even in the beginning.

  Pete Guthrie knew how to light up places in her that had been in darkness forever. She sighed and allowed herself a satisfied smile. And then abruptly sat up in the tub, splashing water over the side.

  “Of course he’s good in bed,” she told herself. “He probably did every cheerleader and majorette in high school. And now that he’s Plainview’s most eligible bachelor again, he’s probably got them lining up at his door! ”

  She turned off the tap. The basketball thumping outside could be heard once more.

  Pete was undoubtedly like his father, Andi decided. Wasn’t that what people always said. A man grows up to be like his father. And Pete’s father was an infamous philanderer. Pete was probably the same way.

  She crawled out of the tub and began to dry off.

  Last night had probably been just an ordinary Saturday night for him. Pick up a woman and take her home. No big deal.

  He’d said he hadn’t had sex in a year.

  Andi thought about that for a moment and then shook her head. He was just talking, just being charming.

  The sinking sense of disappointment hung with her. But she tried to spin it. It was better if it meant nothing to him, she assured herself. It was a crazy mistake on her part and she was not about to allow it to happen again. He undoubtedly knew that this morning as well. If she just kept her distance, he would, too.

  The worst thing about that, Andi realized, was that she liked talking to him. He was smart and funny and on her side. She thought they probably could have been friends.

  Nothing kills friendship quicker than sex.

  “I might as well stick a fork in it,” she told herself in the mirror. “This relationship is done.”

  Back in her bedroom, feeling better physically and mentally, Andi donned a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. She made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Breakfast was over hours ago. The coffeepot was clean and empty. On the counter there was evidence of sandwiches made for lunch. Andi quickly put one together for herself.

  The thump, thump, thumping was even louder downstairs and individual voices could be heard. She paused to listen. The other voice in the driveway wasn’t Pop. And it wasn’t Tony.

  She cut her sandwich in half and headed toward the back deck. She took one big, hungry bite just before opening the back door.

  The swing was empty, but the driveway was not. The man she was avoiding was not avoiding her.

  “Hi!” he called out and waved.

  “Wah da woo ooing weer?” Andi asked with her mouth full.

  “Huh?”

  She swallowed. “What are you doing here?” she repeated.

  “I... I guess I’m shooting hoops with your sister,” he answered.

  “I like Pete,” Jelly declared.

  “Thanks,” he said to her.

  “Pete is really good at passes,” Jelly continued. “He can throw a pass better than any
one. You should get him to throw a pass at you, Andi.”

  He laughed. “I think I already did,” he said, giving Andi a conspiratory wink.

  She was in no mood for conspiracies or innuendoes or seeing him while wearing an old T-shirt and her hair in a wad.

  “I’m going to eat my sandwich,” she said.

  She walked across the deck and took a seat. To her dismay, he urged Jelly to practice her free throws and he came up the stairs. And seated himself on the swing beside her.

  He smiled at her. It was that wholesome, handsome smile. The one that melted girls’ hearts. Andi wasn’t falling for it.

  “I guess I look funny with no makeup,” she said.

  “You look beautiful,” he told her. “It’s like you’re all lit up from within.”

  “Oh, yeah, right,” she said. “Does that line usually work for you?”

  His smile faded. “I don’t think I’ve ever used it,” he said.

  Andi turned her gaze to her sister’s basketball practice. Pete watched, too. They sat next to each other in silence for several minutes. She hoped he would just excuse himself and go home, but he didn’t.

  “So what are you doing here?” she asked again.

  “I...I woke up and you weren’t there,” he said. “I wanted to make sure you got home all right.”

  “I made it home fine,” she told him.

  “I would have driven you,” he said. “Next time, wake me up.”

  “Next time?” Andi turned to glare at him. “You’re assuming a lot, aren’t you?”

  He hesitated before answering. “Maybe more than I should,” he said. “It was...it was so good for me and I thought...I mean, that it sure seemed like it was good for you.”

  Andi could recall perfectly how loudly and persistently she’d expressed her approval. She couldn’t get away with a lie, even in the clear light of day.

  “It was great,” she said. “It was great. So, thank you very much.”

  “Uh...I don’t think ‘thanks’ are really called for,” he said. “It was mutual. Fantastically mutual. You and I are just good together.”