Room 206
"Shithole for a bachelorette party," Cathy scowls.
"We're going out anyway," says Becca.
"What if we meet boys?" asks Maria.
"Jessica has dibs. She's bride."
"We'll meet boys," says Jessica. "I know what happened at his party."
Slips a thong past tan thin thighs.
"Someone's going to be very lucky."
Room 151
Point remote, more volume.
Crying still louder.
Panties. Bra. Chewed gum. Cluttered mattress.
Phone lights. Wife: Miss you!
Door opens. Her face red. Cleavage hickeyed. Neck bitten. Ass bleeding, belt-marked.
"What you wanted." My voice.
"But I'm married in fifteen hours."
She kneels, panicked.
"You'll need makeup."
More volume.
Wails.
Front Desk
It's a fuck motel. Or you're broke. Or you Google poorly.
They all think we don't know. Like we're a stop-off on their way to the Hamptons.
Fake names. Hour-long stays. Twenty-year old girls with friends visiting one by one. Sweaty-haired wives glaring at us on sprints to their cars.
Room 202
We're starting out. This hotel is what we can afford.
Can't wait to see the church I'll be pastoring. A day's drive.
Grace is in her robe, three nights married.
I feel stirring. Sit on the bed, open her robe for the third time, her blushing like the previous two.
Room 101
Phone shut off. Check.
He's tracked me that way before.
Purse in trunk. Keys hidden.
Never know who these guys really are, meeting this way.
Check my hair.
Say I'm forty-five; ten year lie.
They usually know. Never complain once clothes come off.
Younger girls, listen: don't marry older men.
Room 114
