Glitch, page 15
Sandra then wondered if she should clue Ike in on her site's weirdness. The girl instantly recalled how some members wanted her to wear cat or bunny ears in her photos, and others suggested that she wear outfits that even Karl thought were beyond sleazy. Sandra then remembered the love poems sent from her members and a marriage proposal written in Hindi. And some of her site's members have repeatedly asked that she send them nude images and videos.
Letting out a little huff, Sandra says, "I don't think Mom or Karl cares who looks at my site, as long as they pay."
And Sandra was sure about that because Karl had banned no one from her website, no matter how rude, crude or nasty they were to her.
Scooting up, the girl presses her thin body against the back of the passenger seat. She then propped her head in the niche between the top of that seat and its headrest. With her eyes on her companion, Sandra had an odd smile.
Seeing the girl's expression in the rearview mirror, Ike instantly felt awkward because while he would never consider himself a skirt chaser like Vince, he knew when a woman wanted him, and he felt that vibe coming off Sandra.
He had no intention of pulling over by the side of the road and getting all freaky with her, but Ike felt he needed to know what the girl had on her mind, if only to get it out in the open.
Giving Sandra a sideways glance, he was just about to speak, but the girl beat him to the punch; what she had on her mind had nothing to do with sex.
"Ike... Did you know till recently, there were girls younger than me at these runway shows?" she said.
"What?" He uttered.
Instantly, Ike realized that the girl hadn't finished talking about the modeling business. It also told Ike that his female arousal radar appears to be off today. Of course, it could be problematic any other day of the week, but he felt relief instead.
Getting his mind in tune with the subject at hand, Ike responded the only way he could.
With a nervous chuckle, He said, "Ugh, no! ... No, I didn't."
"Oh yeah," Sandra added. "Sometimes, they would have girls as young as 12 at these runway shows."
"Twelve! Really?" he uttered with genuine surprise as he quickly glanced at the girl.
"Yeah!" she said with an affirmative nod of her head.
"Damn!"
That scrap of info caused a severe frown to bloom across Ike's face. He recalled how fantastic the girls looked in fashion shows he had seen over the years, but the idea that some were elementary school kids was indecent, to say the least.
"But you won't see that anymore," Sandra went on. "Not since those child advocates stuck their noses in the modeling business. But Mom calls them 'those pinheaded wonders' because she blames them for the New York incident."
"The New York incident?" Ike voiced with a narrowing of his eyebrows. However, his reaction isn't surprising since this is the first time Sandra has expressed to Ike how she compartmentalizes the events of her life.
"Yeah, it happened early this year," she continued while sitting up a little. "I was doing this runway show in Chicago, which was part of some charity event, so I wasn't getting paid. But Karl said it was good...."
Mocking him, the girl quickly says in a half-ass German accent, "... for your exposure!"
Switching to her normal voice, Sandra says, "Anyway, this guy from Ford was there."
"The Ford Motor Company?" Ike interrupted.
"No! The modeling agency. Anyway, he came up after the show and said I was just the girl he was looking for..."
"So he asked you out?" Ike said jokingly.
Not seeing the humor in that crack, Sandra responded, "No! These people are professionals, not pervs."
"You sure about that?" he said with sincerity.
Slightly annoyed by his frivolous attitude, the girl said sharply, "Who's telling this story?"
Continuing with her tale, Sandra says, "Anyway, He invited me to come to New York for a test shoot and an interview. And if everything worked out, they would offer me a contract. But they had a total policy change when we finally got out there. They weren't considering anyone younger than 16, and mom was so incredibly pissed."
Sliding back in the rear seat, she went on.
"I was in the next room, but I could hear her screaming at these people, calling them everything, and I wanted to be a million miles away from there. So when Karl went in to stop her, I took her wallet from her purse and split. I then caught a cab to JFK-"
"JFK," Ike interrupted her. "Where the hell were you going?"
The reason behind Ike's interjection wasn't mere curiosity. He knew JFK was a central international flight hub, so going there to escape an awkward situation seemed extreme to him.
"I don't know," the girl continued. "I just wanted out of that town... Anyway, I had just enough cash to pay off the cabbie. But when I reached the ticket counter, all the credit cards were canceled ... Then that stupid ticket agent finked me out to the airport police, and they held me till mom got there."
Sandra said, "She still bitches about it sometimes, how if it weren't for those pressure groups, I'd be well on my way to becoming the next big supermodel. But what mom doesn't know is that after four years of dressing up and looking pretty — it isn't fun for me anymore; it's just work."
Ike saw the girl looking downcast; he presumed that it might not have been easy for Sandra to expose that part of herself.
After that brief silence, Ike says, "shouldn't you be telling your mom this?"
The girl didn't respond as she instead looked out the window.
Watching the desert whiz by, Sandra remembered everything that happened in and around the New York incident. She knew a lot she should've shared with her mother, and at the top of the list was the relief she felt when that agency rejected her.
Sandra can't say precisely when she started having doubts about being a fashion model. However, recalling her reaction, compared to her mother's that day, was a moment of crystal clarity. That the life of a supermodel isn't a good fit for her.
* * *
Coming upon a low white structure with the odd name of, The Last Kind Store written across its side, Ike stopped.
Not needing to fuel up, he bypassed the single gas pump before stopping at the front edge of the property.
Needing a cold drink and a break from driving, it was a good enough place to stop. And Ike presumed, with that name, this store might be the last one he'll see on this road for a while.
Exiting the car with her disguise on, Sandra seemed almost giddy as she headed to the entrance.
Also leaving the Lincoln, Ike spotted the payphone out front. He then says, "go on in. I'll be with you in a minute."
With the sound of the sandy ground shuffling beneath her sandals, Sandra paused as something caught her eye.
"Hey, look!" the girl shouted, pointing at a part of the wall ahead of where the shop's name was.
Just visible under the poor white paint job were the words "Close Encounters of..." spelled out in the same black lettering as the rest of the store's name.
Heading over to that weather-beaten phone, Ike halted in mid-stride. Then, looking over, he saw what grabbed the girl's focus.
He immediately laughed while Sandra stood there perplexed. The girl couldn't grasp what the store's original name was.
"I don't get it!... What does it mean?" She proclaims.
"Looks like somebody was worried that Spielberg was gonna sue them," He answered.
"Who?"
"Who!? Spielberg, that's who," Ike said with intensity. He followed that up with a stark demand, "you never heard of Steven Spielberg? Really!"
Sandra responded with a bewildered look and a shrug.
Ike reacted to this obtuseness the only way he could.
Turning away from the girl, Ike dismissively waved his left hand at her. "Just go on in, Sandra," he says, "I'll explain later."
Dissatisfied with the lack of an answer, the girl twisted her lip sideways before continuing towards the entrance.
Picking up the phone receiver, Ike couldn't believe the girl had never heard of Steven Spielberg.
But then he thought teens nowadays probably figured that any person, place, or thing from the 20th century might as well be from the Jurassic era.
In that instant, another laugh bursts out of Ike. And that was because Sandra had probably never heard of that other Spielberg film, Jurassic Park.
An abrupt temperature change strikes Sandra as she enters the shop by pushing open one of the double glass doors.
"Oooo!" she utters upon experiencing that unexpected cold air.
It reminded her of the Lincoln Continental with the air-conditioning on full, which means whoever owns this rinky-dink store has an air-conditioning system that doesn't mess around.
Looking over to her left, the girl noticed something desirable at the head of the aisle nearest the door.
It was a display of brush and comb sets hanging from hooks, and their colors ran the entire length of the spectrum.
They also looked cheap, despite the sign atop the display that read, '$10.99 each'. But Sandra walked past them because right now, something a little more critical was on her mind.
Going up to the front counter, Sandra sees the shop owner, but he doesn't seem to notice her. The proprietor was a man with a big gut, gray mutton chops, and a black leather vest over a white T-shirt. With his bulk propped up on a stool, the shop owner focused on some cheesy talk show appearing on a small black-and-white TV sitting on a shelf.
"Ugh, excuse me. Can you tell me where the bathroom is?" Sandra asked.
Swiveling all the way around, the shop owner looked over at her with his ice-blue eyes. At that second, he thought he was hallucinating since his shop doesn't get too many visitors, so anyone abruptly wandering in is a surprise.
Slow in the communication department, the shop owner doesn't say a word to the girl. Instead, he points his right index finger at the far right end of the store.
Glancing over to where the man pointed, Sandra picks up the slack by saying, "it's over there? Oh, OK." But as Sandra heads in that direction, she doesn't realize that this shop owner's eyes are focused on her tight little bottom.
The shop owner has no issue ogling a pretty girl like Sandra.
Despite the partial whiteout of its name, this store held an extraterrestrial theme that was odd but not off-putting. The plastic toy flying saucers dangling from the ceiling with wires to the smiling gray aliens painted in prime locations on the walls.
The girl ignored all that as she reached the bathroom. But she noticed the little boy and girl symbol on the bathroom's white door, signaling that this was a coed facility, but Sandra didn't care as long as it was an actual bathroom.
Immediately, two things hit her senses when she opens the door: the room's darkness and the smell of cleaning solution.
She also can see that it is tiny, barely more substantial than a closet. Luckily, the pull chain for the bathroom light dangled right in front of the doorway.
Switching it on, she closed the door. Looking all around, Sandra couldn't believe this was a bathroom. The walls were a dingy brown, but she wasn't sure if it was paint or dirt.
The tile floor looked identical to the walls, except for many filthy shoe prints from earlier customers.
And just behind the door was an old mop floating in the black water of a metal bucket.
That toilet and sink had blemishes galore, but the crapper was worse, with many brown stains all over it; and she didn't have to guess what those discolorations were.
The stains on the sink were a mixture of mud and rust that tainted a used bar of green soap. The small mirror above the sink had so many water stains that her reflection was like a funhouse mirror, and just left of that mirror was a paper towel dispenser, with rust spots overwhelming its white finish.
Altogether this bathroom was a disaster, and Sandra felt there was no way she would get all fresh and clean here. To make matters worse, she had to pee again, and she was not looking forward to using that toilet. In comparison, the bush where she peed is much more appealing.
Grabbing a big handful of sand-colored paper towels from that dispenser, Sandra covered the toilet seat. But, unfortunately, she found that those towels looked like sandpaper and felt like it too. Pulling down her pants, Sandra couldn't resist cringing as she sat down.
Finishing up quickly, the girl finds that there's no toilet paper dispenser at all. So, having no choice, she used the only available paper to wipe herself.
Sandra pushed down the toilet plunger, and it rattled as if it was about to fall off in her hand. That water in the bowl then swelled until it overflowed the seat, knocking some of that paper she left onto the floor.
"Oh, gross!" Sandra shouted as the water finally headed down the drain.
With a god-awful mess of wastewater and wet paper all around that toilet, the girl pushed her back against the paper towel dispenser so she wouldn't end up in it.
Reaching over, she turned on that corroded green faucet to wash her hands, but she had no interest in using that soap since it looked too nasty. Keeping her back to the wall, Sandra rinsed her hands one at a time. The girl then fled that disastrous bathroom without drying off her hand, shutting off the faucet, or even turning off the light.
Shutting the bathroom door, Sandra shook her hands in the air, trying to dry them. Then, moving back towards the front counter, Sandra felt she should tell the shop owner about the mess in the bathroom. Sandra then does an immediate about-face in her head because she suspects the shop owner already knows the bathroom is a wreck.
Sandra didn't look at the shop owner or open her mouth as she reached the front counter. Instead, she focused on a stack of red plastic hand baskets that sat on the floor just opposite the counter. The girl then grabbed one of those baskets with damp hands before heading off to get whatever she could.
But as she moved towards the aisles, Sandra felt a little guilty about the toilet. Because while it was a disaster before she entered, she undoubtedly added to the mess, and by not saying anything, the owner might think she did it deliberately. At that point, Sandra figured she better get her shopping done before the owner found out.
Leaning against that payphone, Ike dialed his friend's number once again. This time, however, Ike got something he almost didn't expect: an answer.
"Hello?"
Startled by that response, Ike spouted, "Vince!"
"Yeah!"
"It's me."
"Ike! Goddamnit, where the hell have you been?"
"Hey, that's my line!" Ike spouted in a tone that wasn't entirely serious.
"Oh! You think so?" Dupree shot back the same way.
"Ya, since I've been tryin' to get ahold of ya for two days."
"I've been busy."
Dupree became more no-nonsense as he went on to say, "Now, what happened on the job? Because the news only gave so much info, and I didn't like what I heard."
Ike's tone also changed. First, calling the robbery crew by their names, he says, "yeah, well ... Fishburne and Whitaker got it in the shop. Washington made it out, but he was a mess, and I had no choice but to leave him. But the way he was talkin', he obviously topped himself."
"You sure about that? The news said they caught one of the robbers, and I'm sitting here wonderin' if it's you."
"But I heard three people died?"
"Yeah! One of the grannies that ran the shop had a heart attack."
"Oh, shit!"
"Oh yeah, shit is right," Dupree went on. "And according to the news, our boy isn't talking, at least not yet ... And, you have the stuff, right?"
"Yeah."
"Excellent, dude. The news said the cops didn't recover it, so at least that part of the job went right. Well, how long will it take ya to get here?"
"Not sure, a few hours."
"Right! Right!"
Ike then tries to interrupt his friend by saying, "oh, there's..."
"Can it wait, Ike? I gotta go," Dupree cut him off. "Just get back to me on my private line."
"I have been dialing that line for two days tryin' to get a hold of you."
"Don't worry. Since I'll know it's you calling, I'll definitely answer next time."
Dupree then chuckled before hanging up.
Milling around the aisles, Sandra had packed her handbasket with stuff her mom and Karl would never let her eat, such as Nacho cheese Doritos, pretzels, Cheetos, barbecue corn chips, toffee glazed popcorn, and cookies.
Reaching the back of the store, she faced a refrigerator case stuffed with different drinks, and among those random beverages, the girl saw cans of Ruby Kist cranberry juice.
It wasn't the same brand Ike got from the convenience store back in Utah, but it will do since cranberry juice has become her new favorite drink.
Sandra grabbed two cans of that stuff, but she saw other sweet drinks of the adult kind as soon as she shut that refrigerator door.
Sandra is familiar with Alcopop, the street name for alcohol lace soda. But the ones directly in front of her had odd names like BuzzBallz, Happy Juice Express, Hooper's Hooch, and Lime-A-Rita, and their flavors were equally strange, like strawberry rum, orange float, and wicked Apple.
But regardless of her knowledge about this kind of drink, Sandra doesn't touch it. The main reason is that this stuff isn't available in her hometown, and besides, all those weird drinks don't appeal to her. Turning away from that refrigerator, Sandra faced a shelf full of the traditional hard stuff: Scotch, gin, rum, and tequila. And standing on the corner of that shelf, in diagonally slit open cardboard boxes, was a stack of Finlandia Vodka.
The girl then picked up one of those one-liter clear glass bottles. Gripping its neck tightly, she wasn't admiring the bottle's roughly carved design. When it comes to Vodka, Finlandia is the brand she liked best.
Sandra can't recall when it became her favorite, but compared to other vodkas, Finlandia goes down smoothly and gives her a nice warm feeling inside. She then thought that must be why she was suddenly craving a drink.
But what Sandra didn't know was that two sets of eyes were on her. First, the shop owner watched her with the help of a concave anti-theft mirror hanging above her. Second, Ike, after entering the store, was now standing right across from her.
