The Bikini Car Wash by Pamela Morsi Page B

crossing her legs and allowing one high-heeled slide to dangle perilously from her foot.
    “I’ve walked by this place a million times in my life,” Cher-L said. “This is the first time I’ve seen it open.”
    “Andi and I are just cleaning it up,” Tiff told her. “She’s going to try to sell these old supplies on eBay.”
    Cher-L glanced around and nodded. “I guess if people will buy a piece of toast that looks like the Virgin Mary, they ought to buy boxes of old car fresheners.”
    Andi wasn’t sure she liked equating the two.
    With the shared hope that if they ignored her, she might go away, Andi and Tiff both became very focused on cleaning the floor, the mop boards, the expanse of wall beneath the windows.
    Cher-L accepted the silence, but slowly she began to kick her foot. As if keeping time to music in her head, the tempo picked up until the movement was almost staccato and very annoying.
    “So what are the plans here?” she asked.
    “Plans? We have no plans,” Andi answered.
    “Come on, you’re cleaning up for some reason,” she said. “You must be opening up something.”
    Andi shook her head. “No, nothing,” she replied.
    “Nothing? Nothing at all?” Cher-L gave her head a small shake as if to signal she would not have her question put off so easily.
    Andi didn’t really want to go into it again, but she heaved a sigh and tried to get her reply short enough to tweet.
    “I wanted to open up a drive-through coffee shop, but last night I was turned down for a variance, a zoning change.”
    The brow beneath the blue-striped bangs furrowed. “Azoning change? I thought people were either ‘in the zone’ or ‘zoned out’.”
    “This is a little different,” Andi said. “It’s the way cities and towns manage growth. They can limit certain kinds of businesses in some places.”
    “Sounds unfair to me,” Cher-L said.
    It felt unfair to Andi, but she kept that to herself.
    “So they won’t let you open a coffee shop.”
    “No.”
    “So what can you open?” she asked.
    Andi sighed heavily and shook her head. “I haven’t a clue. The only thing I can do for sure is open it up as what it’s always been, a car wash.”
    “So,” Cher-L responded. “Then open a car wash.”
    Andi stopped mopping long enough to look at Cher-L. Life was so easy when you didn’t understand much about it. “I can’t make any money with a car wash,” she explained. “That’s why my father had to close the place years ago.”
    “People still get their cars washed,” Cher-L pointed out.
    “They do,” Andi agreed. “But the car wash business has completely changed. The way we get them washed, the technology of it, that’s all different.”
    “As if!” Cher-L disagreed. “There’s not any technology to washing cars.”
    “Yes, actually there is,” Andi said. “And it’s been pretty innovative.” She leaned her mop against the wall. “In the 1960s they invented the self-service car wash, where you could get pressurized water for what people used to do with their garden hose. You put coins in, you got water out.”
    Cher-L nodded.
    “Then for those who were a little more lazy, they came up with the in-bay automatic wash. You drive up into it and a whirl of fiberglass brushes wash and wax, and then it blows you dry and you’re on your way without even getting out of your car.”
    “That’s what I do,” Tiff said. “I get a discount on it when I buy gas.”
    Andi nodded. “It’s cheap and convenient. But it can be really hard on your clear coat finish. The people who really love their cars avoid it.”
    Tiff nodded. “I remember my ex saying something like that.”
    “So they came up with the tunnel wash,” Andi said. “It’s mechanized with the car moving through the different wash, rinse and wax stations. But there are no harsh brushes and all the finishing is done by hand. A perfect mix of technology and manpower.”
    Andi was quoting her father on that last statement. He had