“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.”
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.”
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.
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.
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.
No answer again. Fifth time.
She’s usually home now. Even ready for bed now.
Wipe the chip residue off my pants; dangers of eating dinner in bed.
I remember the security cam app on my phone.
It opens my eyes.
Him. Licking her. In our bed.
“No. Nineteen. Need my ID?”
“Need more than that.”
“Money first. Thanks. So what do you want to do?”
“Strip slowly. I need to see those titties. That ass. Bend over me. Whisper you’ll never fuck me. Never let me touch that pussy. I’ll handle it from there.”
She’s always been stupid but at least then she was hot. Her phone’s off now but it wasn’t when she parked.
My Mercedes idles.
Sometime soon some jumpy guy, nervous, walking fast, looking everywhere and nowhere along the way. He’ll knock. Then I’ll know which room.
They’ll like my gun.
Cell Phone screen in 151
7:21: Tomorrow’s it!
7:22: Wish it wasn’t bad luck to see you. Will miss waking up with you.
7:28: You looked so pretty at rehearsal.
7:34: Bad luck to see the groom, not text him!
8:01: Can’t wait to see you down that aisle! Can’t wait til this time tomorrow!
Manager’s Office Bedroom