We had parked in a corner to get a view of all the incoming traffic to the employee area. I wore black slacks, a white shirt, and a black tie, so that I looked like a Mormon missionary or a Nazi, with my close-cropped blond hair, and not a repo man. My driver and wing-woman, Carla, had feathered blonde hair and wore jeans and a loose blouse she could pull up to flash her boobs and throw people off. Whenever she did it everyone looked and everyone stopped, even women, because she had three nipples—two on one boob, which made it look like a sock puppet with bugged-out, googly eyes. I have to admit that I did want to know what it was like to feel them.

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