With a soft lurch, your fiancé parks the (link:"car")[Ford Pinto] in front of the lavender motel, darkened by the hours of dusk.
His warm hand lifts from your thigh to open the car door. You'd been laughing with him for hours about God knows what. The crease of smilelines etch around both of your lips.
[<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/f4/13/f0/f413f0f60f6f1f3482792f9ae31c9157.jpg" width=40% height=30%>]
Between your fingers is a lit cigarette and a (link:"ring")[princess-cut engagement ring that was quite à la mode], which rests outside of the window. You'd begged and pleaded with him not to spend so much. When your families disowned you, money became tight. You'd never admit it aloud, but you are happy that he did it anyway.
You tossle your (link:"hair")[disco-curled hair] before opening your own car door. (link:"Your pants")[Brown bell-bottoms] slap against your ankles while you step outside.
[[Motel lobby]] You try the door. A old man emerges.
He is the perfect picture of a (link:"sitcom grandpa")[ sitcom grandpa like Bub from My Three Sons]. Interestingly, he wears black sunglasses while carrying a cane. The cane taps around, creating a rhythm against the motel concrete.
Behind him, a pot of (link:"tea")[Red Rose tea] hollers. He weges the door wide open, then putteringly goes to fetch it.
[<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/e1/87/99/e18799ce4f8e7af33e9923aac290be21.jpg
" width=30% height=30%>]
"Do you need something?" He asks with a walloping German accent after pouring a cup. His voice is as croaky as if it were a dying frog.
"I'm terribly sorry, sir," you say, "We have the wrong room."
"Oh!" The old man chuckles, "Vat brings you children to Las Vegas?"
"We're getting married," your fiancé answers. Out of habit, he twists his own band around with his thumb and index finger.
"I love to hear dat people are still getting married!" The old man beams, "Congratulations!" The pessimist in you is not quite certain if he would still say that if he could see the two of you.
"Thank you," you and your fiancé say politely while in unison.
Your fiancé nudges you with his foot, then teasingly whispers, "Are we going to be that annoying couple that finishes each others' sentences?"
Together, the two of you turn around to continue looking for your room.
[[Upstairs hallway]] You and your fiancé head to the motel lobby.
A coffee machine sits on a table near the window, brewing away. The scent of (link:"coffee grounds")[cheap, Folgers coffee grounds] is thick in the air. Your fiancé glances around the room with his brows knotted together. When he realises that you're watching him, he tries to smile. "I'm going to grab a cup," he says. You know what he's implying.
You hear (link:"music")["Ain't no Mountain High Enough" by Marvin Gaye] playing on the radio nearby. The moonlight dances to the song through the window shades, casting cocaine-esque white lines along the carpet.
You step up to the counter. On the wall, there are some (link:"decorations")[decorations like a post card from the Twin Towers, a clipping about the years-old assassination of JFK, and a photograph of Elvis Presley].
The motel receptionist pulls away from his newspaper, straightening his (link:"shirt")[lavender huk-a-poo shirt]. For a second, he says nothing while his eyes flit between you and your fiancé, lingering on him, with a raised eyebrow. He mumbles under his breath, "Unnatural."
"Excuse me?" You say indignantly. You know that you shouldn't act so baffled. Most people haven't seen a man like your fiancé and a woman like you in the same room, much less together.
"How can I help you today, //ma'am//?" He asks coldly, ignoring your question. He stresses the word with scorn as if it were a slur.
"Can we please get a room?" You are met with an exhasperated sigh. You hand over $10, which he takes the full amount with no change.
He shoves the key into your hands. "Here's your key."
"Which room is ours?"
"It's on the keychain." The motel receptionist turns back to his (link:"newspaper")[newspaper with the date 'December 13th, 1969' at the top]. "Obviously."
[[Parking lot]] You try the lock a few times, thinking that this is certainly your room.
A middle-aged man opens the door. Below thinning hair, beads of sweet dance atop his forehead. His lips, cheek, and neck are stained with (link:"coral lipstick.")[coral lipstick, which reminds you of Ginger from "Giligan's Island."] Before you can stop yourself, you notice his (link:"suit pants")[Pierre Cardin suit pants] are undone.
Surprised, you yelp like a dog.
"Oh, fuck!" the man shivers in the cold, "I thought you were my wife." He rubs his bare chest nervously with one hand. "Do you, um, folks need something?"
"No, we were just looking for our room."
The man sighs out of relief. It is then that you realize he had been holding a gun, which he drops to the floor. "I'm terribly sorry, I wasn't expecting visitors."
[<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/78/82/0b/78820b933f10bf805a2d0bf899d62d16.jpg" width=30% height=30%>]
"Come back to the tub, Mr. Blinton!" A (link:"voice")[lilting woman's voice] cooes.
"Yeah, hurry up!" Another (link:"voice")[husky woman's voice] hollers.
Your fiancé grabs your hand, pulling you away quickly.
[[Upstairs hallway]] You put the key into the lock, turning it. To your surprise, it clicks. You push through the door while your fiancé follows.
The room is the deepest lilac colour, giving the impression of springtime at night. It's paired with squeeky furniture, like mice. Only bulbous lamps illuminate the room.
"I'm excited for tomorrow!" You sigh, absentmindedly running your hands through your hair. You can still feel the little crinkles of (link:"hairspray")[aqua net hairspray]. You add, "Someday, perhaps, the world won't see you as the Othello to my Desdemona."
"My little poet," he sadly nods his head in agreement. You stand up, then wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him.
[<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ba/36/bb/ba36bbf06ec6bf2bb15f9012d146effe.jpg"width=40% height=50%>]
He whispers into your lips, "I love you."You try the door. A lanky woman opens it and peers out of the door.
A soft hat of crocheted daisies rests atop her head. You shiver as her never-ending hair pours over you as if it were a waterfall.
Before speaking, she tokes on a (link:"joint")[rather thick, black roll of hashish with a smoggy lover at its side]. Admitedly, you too are well-acquainted with what she puts in her mouth.
[<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/e8/e1/b5/e8e1b564116a9ca41e01a5f2ce61a7e8.jpg"width=30% height=50%>]
"You look lost, babygirl," she giggles in a (link:"high")[pun-intendedly high] voice, "Do you need something? Maybe a hit?" She offers you the joint. You graciously take it from her, inhaling deeply and letting it simmer in your chest for a minute.
Your fiancé bites his lip, amused as always by your antics.
"Thanks," you whimper. You feel a little flushed from the disappating smoke. "We're just searching for our room. We can't make out the number on the little keychain."
"If you don't find it, you can stay the night here," she mischeviously smiles while taking another hit, "The more the merrier." Even though she's seems to be joking, you aren't certain if she is. Ménage à trois were often offered to you and your fiancé. Although you were an attractive couple, the sampling of the 'taboo' lay behind each request.
"Now, I got to get back to watching my program." You hear the TV chittering from behind her, playing (link:"her show.")["I Dream of Jeanie."]
You turn around to continue looking for your room.
[[Downstairs hallway]] You wiggle the handle. A burly man cracks the door open slightly.
His (link:"pair of spectacles")[John-Lennon-esque pair of spectacles] face downwards to you. At the same time, the man nervously adjusts his loosened tie. You notice that stains of purple lipstick dot the brown floral print, going lower and lower.
"Hello?" He asks nervously, freckled face scrunched up, "Do you need something?"
The man curious looks past you. His body softens upon seeing your fiancé. His gaze darts to your ring finger. "You're..." He trails off. You already know what he is thinking.
"Who is there, honey?" Another (link:"voice")[man's voice] asks from behind him. Heels thump against the floor, then you hear the clicking of a cassette tape. The tape plays (link:"a tune")["I Was Made to Love Her" by Stevie Wonder].
[<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/28/7b/0d/287b0ddf8f50dc7600912566cb4ee8db.jpg" width=30% height=30%>]
The man at the door calls over his shoulder while keeping an eye on you both, "Just a young couple headed west like us."
He lowers his voice, "Are you two getting married now that it's legal?"
"Yes, actually!" Your fiancé blushes, "If she couldn't be mine in this lifetime, I don't know what I'd do."
"Good luck to the both of you," the man nods kindly. His voice, however, is tinged with envy. Not towards you, but rather the circumstances.
The two of you turn around to continue looking for your room.
[[Downstairs hallway]] You try the door, but a man props it open.
The man is nothing to write home about. His demeaner is that of an aged-jock long past his prime. He is dressed in what the average joe would (link:"wear")[wear--a colourful ascot paired with matching velvet pants].
[<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/b5/b7/3a/b5b73af6dbc58f12c0aeba61901862ea.jpg" width=30% height=30%>]
He quickly pours himself a glass of (link:"vodka")[Cossack-brand vodka]. Turning back to you, the man smiles smugly.
"Well, I swanee," his says, accent soping in a Southern dialect, "It's not every day that one has the pleasure to find a beautiful woman on their doorstop. Care for a drink, darlin'? Now, I won't take no for an answer."
"I'm sorry but I'm engaged," You say, feigning sincerity. In another lifetime, you would be forced to marry a guy like him. Your skin skitters like a nervous cat at the idea of coming home to someone so repulsive.
His face falls like Icarus upon seeing your fiancé, "What the everloving fuck is this?"
"We were just looking for our room," You say, instinctively standing in front of your fiancé. "We'll be going now."
"Don't you know that y'all are freaks?"
Your fiancé drags you away to continue looking for your room, leaving before he could test his luck by saying anything more offensive.
[[Downstairs hallway]] You tug on the handle, but a woman steps into the hallway.
The woman looks a little worse for wear. Teeth stained yellow and smoker's wrinkles around her lips, she (link:"gawks at you")[gawks at you with wide-eyes like Twiggy].
While she leans closer, her ill-fitting bra strap topples down one of her arms. Her platform heels clunk loudly against the floor.
[<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ee/9e/8e/ee9e8ed4881068d35756403a2310c0c3.jpg" width=30% height=30%>]
"You aren't my clients!" She says in surprise while slurring her word. You flinch when hit by her breath, which reeks of heavy liquor.
"No, we aren't." You say apologetically, "We're terribly sorry to have bothered you."
"Mmhm," She says while drawing a cigarette from her mouth, "If you see any of these shmucks looking for me, send them to 7B. If you see Johnny, I'm not here."
"Okay," You cheekily say, "We'll definitely do that."
She looks at you closer, "You know, you should talk to Johnny." You glance over at your fiancé who has laugh on his lips. "You're very pretty." Your husband is used to this sort of impropriety, but mostly because he is a public defender.
"Thanks," You settle on saying politely.
Her gaze tumbles over to your fiancé and cruelly smiles. "I've fucked guys like you before," the woman snorts at you, "Guess that's one thing we have in common."
Before she can say anything more, the two of you quickly turn around to continue looking for your room.
[[Upstairs hallway]] You try the door. A frazzled woman opens the door while bouncing a baby on her hip.
The woman looks a (link:"mess")[mess, the very opposite of a Jackie Kennedy type]. Her hair barely manages to stay in the general form of a loose bun. Her clothes are glued together by spit-up and (link:"food")[a sort of Swanson-brand microwavable dinner].
"Hello?" She asks. The television behind her rattles with (link:"nighttime programs")[The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson].
"Oh, sorry," You say nervously.
Before you can turn around, her child starts to become fussy. His lip quivers before fat tears tumble down his face. He bears a strong resemblance to his mother.
"Don't cry, baby," the woman cooes, "Mama is here. Mama loves you. It don't matter where your daddy is, so long as I have you."
Hot (link:"tears")[tears tinted black with Maybelline mascara] whip the whites of your eyes, then toss themselves into your open palms. Corkscrews flutter against your ribcage. There's a spot in your chest that aches for your mother.
[<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/44/01/6c/44016ce275397f515f4a90574f6ee9b4.jpg" width=40% height=30%>]
Your fiancé knows the ghastly look on your face all too well. He whisks you away.
[[Downstairs hallway]] You enter the stairwell.
[<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/b6/f6/ca/b6f6cac0cf0e889e508a4444cc120fb7.jpg" width=30% height=30%>]
Your dangly (link:"earrings")[hooped-earrings, a vain imitation of Brigitte Bardot,] swing against your earlobes as you change floors. Your fiancé had given them to you on your 21st birthday last year. You'd remarked on them while the two of you were window-shopping downtown.
[[Upstairs hallway]]
[[Downstairs hallway]]
[[Corner of stairwell]]
[[Fire exit]] [<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/79/8e/ac/798eac339b6d381dcb3cb212d75b7ce4.jpg"width=40% height=50%>]
You stand in the upstairs hallway. There are four rooms: 1B, 9B, 6B, and 7B.
"Which room should we try now?" Your fiancé asks, scratching the back of his neck. Perhaps juvenile, his neck is dotted with love bites you'd given him last night. The two of you slept in the (link:"car")[Ford Pinto]. Close quarters lead to one thing or another.
[[Stairwell]]
[[1B]]
[[9B]]
[[6B]]
[[7B]]
[[Fire exit]] [<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/29/dd/13/29dd135b3c38109727e4b9dbaa811324.jpg"width=40% height=50%>]
The two of you stand in the downstairs hallway where there are four rooms: 1A, 9A, 6A, and 9AB.
"Where should we go?" Your fiancé asks with widened cavier-coloured eyes. You'd always thought that his gaze is like the ocean at night when the moonlight tosses precious diamonds into the dark waves. Perhaps this is because you're a writer.
[[Parking lot]]
[[Stairwell]]
[[1A]]
[[9A]]
[[6A]]
[[9AB]]
Your fiancé follows you and asks, "Which room is ours, baby?"
[<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/2d/db/d6/2ddbd64cd7b3a3030698c1f836cabc11.jpg" width=30% height=30%>]
You and him near the motel. Besides being dulled-purple in the moonlight, you notice that the windows and doorframes are an unsettingly eggshell-white.
Each door has a room number that is mismatched and misordered. You assume that the owner purchased the signs from different vendors.
You hold up the key to the light of the streetlamp. The number is (link:"smudged")[smudged in Sharpie, which is a fairly new invention]. You would ask more about the room, but the motel receptionist's jackassery is not an uncommon experience for the two of you and would likely lead to more confusion.
"I'm not quite sure which one it is." You confess, showing it to him.
He crinkles his nose in thought, which you've always found to be endearing. It always brings you back to when first saw him. He was standing on a soapbox with a thoughtful crease on the bridge of his nose. Megaphone in hand, he rallied for (link:"human rights")[human rights for all, regardless of the colour of their skin].
"We should try out the key then," he gingerly nods his head in the direction of the downstairs hallway, "Hopefully, nobody answers the door."
[[Downstairs hallway]] [<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/b1/c7/41/b1c74118306dd8c5bc8947d9cac62974.jpg" width=50% height=30%>]
Your fiancé glances behind him before pulling you into a deep kiss. His tongue is like those (link:"cigarettes")[Marlboro cigarettes] that you usually carry in your lime-green handbag and vanilla. You soften beneath his grip.
"Your mouth still tastes like that McDonald's milkshake!" You laugh, breaking away from him.
"From earlier?" He feigns shock with a gasps, then plants kisses along your neck.
"Stop!" You playfully swat him, "We really need to find our room!"
He smirks, "Fine, fine, I'll save it for the honeymoon."
[[Stairwell]] You pull your fiancé through the emergency exit.
He laughs, "Did you want to sleep in the fire escape, baby?"
"You're so mean!" You feign a whine, "Now, where is this damned room?"
You decide to take a minute to breathe. You quickly slip out a carton of (link:"cigarettes") [Camel cigarettes, which are not your favourite brand but the store ran out]. You shove one in your mouth. Your fiancé does not mind as he smokes too. He, however, does not do it as often.
[<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/fd/79/8e/fd798e2c6745435ce28c194e12c2341e.jpg" width=40% height=30%>]
Your fiancé yawns after letting you smoke for a bit. It is getting close to being unreasonably late at night.
[[Parking lot]]
↶↷With a soft lurch, your fiancé parks the car in front of the lavender motel, darkened by the hours of dusk.
His warm hand lifts from your thigh to open the car door. You'd been laughing with him for hours about God knows what. The crease of smilelines etch around both of your lips.
Between your fingers is a lit cigarette and a ring, which rests outside of the window. You'd begged and pleaded with him not to spend so much. When your families disowned you, money became tight. You'd never admit it aloud, but you are happy that he did it anyway.
You tossle your hair before opening your own car door. Your pants slap against your ankles while you step outside.
Motel lobby