"THE MORNING AFTER" (1983/'87)

Her eyes open.
The motel room. It’s dark.
She sits up. In bed. Naked.
The place beside her is disarrayed. She puts her hand over it.
Cold.
She gets out of bed. Slowly she crosses to the window. Pushes open the curtain.
Blinding sunlight.
She puts a hand to her eyes. Sways, unsteadily.
She turns and walks to the dresser.
On it, her wallet lies open. She picks it up. Anger and frustration well up, covering her face. It is empty.
She looks into the mirror. She does not like what she sees.

The party.
She sat at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette. Why had she come?
People talked. Useless party talk.
She waited for the bathroom. The woman behind her, whom she had briefly, started rambling on.
“Great party, huh?” the woman asked.
“Yah, great,” she through out.
“Some great guys here, huh?” the woman continued.
"Yah, great.” “Got your eye on anyone?” “No.” “I do.” “Good.” “Jack. The one with the long blonde hair.” “Great.” “He’s such a hunk.” “Yah.” She was saved from further insight when her turn for the bathroom came up.
She entered the living room. Some guy stood in the doorway. Shirt open. Gold chains. ‘I’m cool’ written all over his face.
“How ‘bout you and me, babe?” he actually said.
“I have herpes,” she replied, and calmly moved on.
She watched the partiers. They seemed to be straining to have a good time. They drank, and smoked, and snorted, and dropped. They acted foolish an laughed about it. One very sexy woman, who was practically falling out of her dress, stood between two men, playing one against the other. She’d lean on one, then the other, laughing all the time. The men’s eyes burned.
She wondered where her friend Janice had got to. Janice had bought her to the party, then wondered off somewhere.
A spot on the couch was vacated. She sat down. Next to her sat a drunk jock. Singing some football song.
Suddenly, he noticed her. He lurched at her. Reeked of stale alcohol. She pushed nun away. He made kissy-kissy noises, and babbled something.
Another man came to her rescue. He told the jock that more beer had just arrived. The jock lumbered away. The new man sat down. He was nice.
“Thank you,” she said smiling.
“I can never resist a damsel-in-distress,” he smiled too.
They talked. For hours. She liked him.

She looks at her face.
She picks up the bottle of Jack Daniels left sitting on the dresser, and takes the last swallow.
She looks down at her breasts. Covers them with her arms.
She goes to the bathroom. Closes the door.
She gets into the shower. Turns the water on.
It feels good on her face.

They came here. The motel.
Both of them were drunk. Very drunk.
He kissed her hard. Took a swig of Jack Daniels. He offered it to her. She did likewise.
They went to the bed. On opposite sides, they undressed.
He rushed, and jumped into bed. She hesitated, then hurried and finished, and got into bed.
He got on top of her. They kissed. They fucked. He came. He rolled over and went to sleep.
She had a cigarette.
And cried.

She finishes dressing.
She looks at the bed.
She goes to the dresser. Picks up the empty liquor bottle. Examines it. Drops it in the wastebasket.
She takes a piece of gum out of her purse, unwraps it carefully, and puts it in her mouth.
She walks to the door. Opens it. Steps out. Closes the door.
She looks down at the “Do Not Disturb” sign. She flips it over.
“Maid Clean Up”.



The End