After a day-long drive in their Studebaker, five doo-wop singers are in Woodford, sitting in a motel room, when there’s an ominous knock on the door. Doggone it! Not the fuzz again…
It’s a cleaning girl. Brown manliness and white shirts ignite her blue eyes.
No one says a thing.
The door gets closed. She’s got the zorros. Shirts get unbuttoned. The slim, peachy seventeen gets sucked into a taboo hurricane and they go to town with her as their ding-dong girl. They goose it like hot rodders and the bass makes her sign high for a slam-bang finish.
After her shift, she’s back, with her grandma.
