The Bikini Car Wash (6 page)

A GUILTY CONSCIENCE,
for guilt not his own, had plagued Pete most of the weekend. He’d spent an inordinate amount of time figuring how, in these tough times, he might make it right. By Monday he almost had his ducks in a row. He didn’t have the money to buy the car wash property that his father had offered on so many years ago, but he thought he might be able to manage a long-term lease on the property. That would put some money in the hands of the Wolkowicz family—maybe even more money in the long run—and he could begin working on a plan to utilize the place.

He put his ideas on hold, however, when he heard about the drive-through coffee proposal that went before the council.

“That sounds like a pretty good idea,” he told Miss Kepper as he stood in her office doorway, sipping at his own cup.

“Oh no,” she insisted. “It’s a terrible idea. Who would buy expensive coffee on that corner? And it’s like your father said, rules are rules.”

Mention of his father had Pete immediately curious.

“My dad was opposed to this?”

“Mr. Guthrie recused himself,” Miss Kepper answered quickly. “He didn’t want to even give the appearance of bias. But he is totally correct about the rules.”

Pete deliberately kept his expression blank. He didn’t want to point out how Miss Kepper’s own opinions always leaned heavily in his father’s favor. He also chose not to remark on how little respect his father typically gave to rules. Especially if they were meant to apply to him.

He was saved from saying anything by the store intercom.

“Mr. Guthrie to Bakery, please. Mr. Guthrie to Bakery.”

Pete frowned. “What could be going wrong at the bakery this early in the day?”

He hurried down the stairs and past the checkouts toward the far corner of the store. It was too early for the smell of fresh bread. The baking for that started about noon, encouraging buyers of lunch and lingering through the buyers of dinner. Mornings were sugar-filled with fluffy doughnuts and cinnamon rolls, the scent of which had Pete’s stomach growling. His bowl of plain oatmeal already seemed a long time ago. He deliberately chose to ignore that.

“What’s up?” he asked Beth, a plastic-capped worker arranging cakes in the display case.

She pointed toward the stainless steel doors. “They’re in the back.”

The prep section of the bakery was set apart from the rest of the store by a glass wall. Customers could view the clean, orderly area, but were protected from the heat and noise. Through the window, Pete could see the supervisor, Nell,
standing arms crossed and tight-lipped, her expression furious. Beside her in a slouching posture that could only be described as insolent, was Cher-L, a bakery employee who was frequently in trouble.

“Oh, crap,” Pete whispered under his breath. He hated negotiating between these two. He warned Nell the last time that it happened that Cher-L was her employee and he didn’t want to be called in on every rule infraction.
Hey, Peterson,
he chided himself sarcastically.
This is why you get paid the big bucks.

Forcing a optimistic smile on his face, he went through the doorway and approached the two women.

“Good morning,” he greeted them both.

“Not so good for us,” Nell said. “Cheryl has ruined the dough.”

“My name is Cher-L!” the younger woman whose blue-striped hair was visible beneath her clear plastic cap complained. “I just made a mistake.”

“Yes, well, as usual, you’re better at making mistakes than making bread.”

Cher-L’s eyes narrowed and Pete knew she was just an instant away from name-calling, something that simply couldn’t be tolerated. He quickly intervened.

“Tell me what happened,” he asked.

Both women turned to him.

“You first, Cher-L,” he said, hoping to counter her sense of being outnumbered by her bosses.

Cher-L turned her attention and her body to face Pete completely, as if to suggest that Nell’s presence was irrelevant. The young woman’s mouth was pouty and she dropped her eyes suggestively for a glance at Pete’s crotch. She was accus
tomed to dealing with men on a very primitive level and she was undoubtedly successful with it.

“It was just a silly mistake,” she explained. “I remembered to take the dough out of the freezer. But when we closed up last night I forgot to put it in the fridge.”

When she said it, it did sound like a small, silly thing. But Pete knew what it meant. He glanced past her to the cart beyond. Frozen dough was floured and laid out on baking sheets to thaw. Then it had to be refrigerated to keep the dough from rising. Each morning it would be brought out and allowed to rise for fifty minutes, then it would be reshaped and allowed to rise another twenty minutes before it went into the oven.

This morning, the baking cart was laden with giant, awkwardly shaped loaves that could never be made to look right and that would taste unpleasantly sour. Add to that the health inspection violation of leaving food sitting out and Pete was staring at a couple dozen bake sheets of money to be thrown in the garbage.

There would not be enough time to thaw, rise and bake a day’s allotment. Therefore no fresh bread for sale at Guthrie’s today.

“Cher-L,” he said, very softly. “Why don’t you change back into your street clothes and meet me in my office.”

The young woman looked genuinely surprised and hurt at the suggestion. But as she turned to walk away, there was more defiance in her walk than defeat.

Pete turned to Nell and shrugged. “Throw it out,” he said, sighing.

“I can put together some scratch,” she offered. “Maybe twelve or fifteen loaves by lunchtime if nothing goes wrong.”

Pete nodded. “Do what you can,” he said.

Nell nodded.

He walked back through the store and up the stairs. He stopped at Miss Kepper’s office.

“I need Cher-L’s employee file.”

Miss Kepper got up from her desk and walked to the vertical file cabinet against the back wall and quickly retrieved the thick pile of collected documents wrapped in a manila folder.

“Here you go,” she said.

“Thanks,” Pete answered. “Send her into my office as soon as she shows up.”

“Okay.”

Pete waited a long moment. Miss Kepper didn’t say another word.

He broke the silence. “Sorry about this,” he said. “You were right. I was wrong.”

The older woman shrugged. “You always try to see the good in people,” she said, putting the best possible spin on Pete’s bad hiring decision. She didn’t ask him what he intended to do. And he appreciated that. Although he was pretty sure he was out of options.

Pete walked to his office and set the file on his desk. He knew he probably should spend the time waiting for her to look through it and make sure he remembered it all correctly. Instead, he stood at the window staring out at the parking lot toward the little building on the corner. He wondered absently if Wolkowicz’s daughter was there again today. Would she continue to sort the place out, or would rejection of her coffee shop have her just locking the door and walking away? Somehow she didn’t seem like the walking away type.

Cher-L showed up in the doorway. The white coat and
plastic cap had disappeared. She stood there for a moment, almost posing. The blue-striped hair, heavy eye makeup and plump bloodred lips were just the beginning of her feminine allure. She was now wearing very high heels, tight slacks and a blouse that revealed more skin, both in neckline and midriff, than it covered. She deftly closed the door behind her and smiled up at him, lowering her eyes in a way that was unapologetically provocative.

She was not at all his type. But when a guy hasn’t had sex in a while, he’s a lot less picky. She was attractive and available.

Pete mentally reminded himself that he was nearly thirty years old. He was the head of his company. A lot of people, a lot of families, depended on him. They trusted him to make tough choices that concerned their livelihood. And he needed to make those decisions with his brain instead of his penis.

“Have a seat,” he said in a tone he hoped was all business.

As Cher-L walked past him, her hips swayed seductively. His eyes were drawn to the spiderweb tattoo on her lower back and he caught sight of the top of her purple thong showing above her low-cut waistband.

Deliberately, Pete reopened the door.

She swivelled slightly in her chair, crossing her legs. “I was hoping we could have some privacy?” she whispered. “I don’t want Miss Kepper to hear.”

“Miss Kepper is not listening,” he assured her brightly. “And she is the soul of discretion on personnel matters.”

By the time he got to the other side of his desk, he could see Cher-L was frowning slightly. He hoped that was a good sign. He sat down and opened her file. He already knew what was there, but he flipped through it carefully nonetheless. There
were already two serious reprimands that Cher-L has signed off on. Both in the last three months. Three strikes, you’re out. It was the rule in baseball as well as the grocery business.

Pete looked the young woman directly in the eye. He kept his voice soft, but his words were firm.

“Cher-L, things don’t seem to be working out very well for you in our bakery.”

She bit her lip and leaned forward, offering him an excellent view down the front of her blouse. Pete kept his eyes on her face.

“I am so sorry,” she said, her voice as breathy as a Marilyn Monroe impersonator. “Leaving the dough out, well, it was just awful and expensive and, oh you have every right to be so angry at me.”

Her apology was spoken in such an enticingly sexy voice, Pete fully expected her next line to be a description of herself as “a very naughty girl.” Forestalling that, he went straight to the point.

“I believe it is time for both of us to admit that Guthrie Foods is not a good employment fit for you.”

She sat up a little straighter and recrossed her legs. Clearly, she was rethinking her assumptions about him and deciding on another tack.

“The bakery is just not quite my thing,” she said. “All those old biddies, half of them crazed with menopause and the other half taking turns with PMS. It’s like trying to work in the eye of an estrogen hurricane every day of the week!”

Pete understood that talking about female biology was another distraction intended to make him waver in his decision. He steeled himself for more of the same. Mention
of maxi pads and monthly courses was the nuclear option for women when manipulating male bosses.

“The organization needs to work like a team, Cher-L,” he said. “I believe you’ve tried to be a team player. I give you credit for that. But I think, by nature, you are a more…more creative sort and you’ll be happier and more successful in a different type of work environment.”

With a quick indrawn breath and an exaggerated jaw drop, Cher-L was smiling again. “I was thinking exactly that same thing,” she told him. “The bakery just isn’t the place for me. Bread is boring, boring, boring. I’m thinking that my natural gift for color and display and stuff, just makes me perfect for produce. The produce department would be great for me.”

Pete wasn’t about to transfer Cher-L to produce. He was not unaware of gossip that suggested she and the produce manager had engaged in trysts in the back parking lot. The produce manager was a married man with two little kids. Even if none of it was true, he had no doubt that Cher-L would use the rumors to her advantage.

“No, Cher-L,” he stated firmly. “A transfer to another department is not going to be possible. We are terminating your employment with us.”

She was incredulous at the idea. She needed the job. She had rent to pay and credit card bills. There were so few jobs in town. If she lost this one, where would she ever find another?

Pete kept his resolve as unmovable as stone. And continued to repeat the final verdict. She was no longer employed at Guthrie Foods.

When argument failed, she began to cry.

Pete hated tears worse than anything. There was no way
to fight back, nothing to do but live through them. In his head he knew that he was in the right, but the crying made him feel like such a heel. He sat there listening to her sobs as long as he could stand it. Finally he went for his own secret weapon. He stepped out the door and walked down the hall.

He didn’t need to even speak to Miss Kepper. She obviously
had
been listening and she was waiting. Without a word, she went up the hall and into his office.

“Cher-L,” he heard Miss Kepper say. “It’s time to go to the bathroom, wash your face and straighten up. I’ll mail your check by the end of the week.”

Pete moved over to the edge of the room, not hiding, but not visible to anyone just passing in the corridor.

A few minutes later he saw the back of Cher-L as she went by. She’d stopped crying but all the confidence had gone out of her walk. She looked now to be the person he’d originally thought her to be, a lonely confused young woman in need of a job.

Andi hadn’t realized how much she’d counted on the coffee stop until the possibility was gone. She wasted half of a sleepless night in denial.
They couldn’t do this to her. Guthrie had been in the wrong. In the light of day, the council would see that and alter their position.
That was, of course, a complete fantasy on her part. The decision was made and, as far as the city was concerned, it was final. She could take them to court, but she couldn’t afford that, and she’d probably lose anyway. There was nothing to be done. When it came to opening a small business, it was prudent to worry about striking out. But she hadn’t expected to be thrown out of the game before she even made it to the batter’s box.

She went directly from denial to outrage. How dare they deprive her of an opportunity to create a livelihood! How dare they deprive the community of a place to drive through and get coffee!

Andi was still furious over breakfast.

Her father was sympathetic, but not that consoling.

“It was a good idea and you presented it well,” he said between bites of oatmeal. “You gave yourself a fair shot and you should be rightly proud of that. But plenty of great ideas never get implemented. I’m sure they taught you that in business school.”