Motel 66 Motor Court was nice looking, a dozen separate little cabins painted white with navy blue trim. The cabins were plunked down in a horseshoe shape in the middle of open land. Young trees had been planted between each cabin and the next, but they were saplings and didn’t soften the flat, featureless landscape much. June thought that the trees were copper beeches. Donald pulled up to a tiny cabin in the center that had an office sign in front.
“Do you think we need our marriage license?” June said, as she smoothed her skirt before getting out of the car. She had never checked into a motel before — the idea still made her quite nervous — and she had heard bad things.
“No,” Donald said.
“But people say they’ll wonder if you’re really married, and they check to see if you have luggage—”
By then Donald had entered the door of the office and she followed right away, suddenly feeling alone. As she closed the car door, a little rice blew out. Well, if they don’t believe it, she thought, there’s the proof.
June heard angry voices, quickly cut off. The office was not more than ten feet by ten feet, with a counter topped with linoleum in the center. The same linoleum covered the floor. The office was spotlessly clean, and in fact a teenage girl with a dustpan and broom was digging dust out of the corner where the two far walls came together.
A cash register sat on a card table against the rear wall. A man sat cranking the handle of an adding machine, holding small sheets of paper in his left hand.
“Welcome to Motel 66,” said a pink, plump woman in a pink dress sprigged with blue carnations.
Donald said, “Thanks. We’d like a room.”
“How many nights?”
“One.”
“That’ll be six dollars.”
June saw Donald wince, thinking this was more than he had expected to pay. She hoped he wouldn’t make a fuss.
The woman seemed to want to gloss over the price too, and talked on breezily. “I’m Bertine, and this is Pete. You’re lucky you stopped now. We’re full up except for two units.”
Pete stood up, saying, “Soon as the sign goes on, people start coming off the highway.”
Donald peeled six ones from his roll of wedding money. Pete was very handsome, June noticed, and he smiled at her, then actually winked. Immediately she told herself loyally that Donald was a good-looking man too.
Donald reached out for the key, a big brass key attached to a piece of wood into which the number three had been burned with a wood-burning tool. June patted her hair, unfamiliar and somewhat uncomfortable in its new style. Rice flew out onto the counter.
“Oh, gee!” she said.
Bertine said, “Why you’re just married!”
June blushed. “That’s right.”
“That’s so exciting. Isn’t that exciting, Pete?”
“Sure is. Congratulations.”
“On your wedding trip?” Bertine said.
“Yes. My uncle has a house near Los Angeles he’s lending us for two weeks. And we’re seeing the country, the Painted Desert and the Petrified Forest and everything, as we go.”
“Well, isn’t that the best!”
June ducked her head, still embarrassed because these people would know it was her wedding night.
The cleaning girl tipped up her dustpan to hold the dust and headed for the side door of the office. As she passed behind Pete and Bertine, Pete casually reached his left hand back and patted her bottom. Donald noticed, but June did not, and Bertine was standing to Pete’s right and could not have seen.
Donald seized the key and headed for the door. June followed him quickly, afraid somebody might embarrass her with wedding night jokes.
As the screen door closed behind them. June heard Bertine say cheerily, “There. There’s another car turning in. We’re full.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s swell, isn’t it?”
“It is, Pete.”
June stopped to listen. She was interested in people.
“It is now,” Pete said. “How about in a couple of years? Once the interstate is in. Huh?”
“Maybe it won’t be so bad. You know the government. It could be years before they even get started. Prob’ly will be. Decades, maybe.”
“I heard they started a section near Bloomington.”
“Well, that’s there. This is here.”
“I told you we should never’ve bought here. Goddamn President Eisenhower anyhow!”
His hand on the car door, Donald said, “Come on, Juney.”
As Donald drove the car over to cabin three, June whispered, “They’ve been arguing.”
Donald said, “Obviously. But it’s not our problem.”
“Oh, no. Of course not.”
“We’re on our honeymoon,” Donald said. He didn’t say anything about Pete patting the cleaning girl.
It was past eight-thirty P.M. now, and the sun was setting.
The cabin was as spotless inside as the office had been. The decor was fake rustic, with red and green plaid linoleum, wood-look wall-board, and a white ceiling with wooden beams. June knew the beams were hollow. Her parents had exactly the same thing in their rec room. But she liked it.
The bathroom didn’t quite match. All the fixtures were pink.
June said, “This is so exciting. I know I’m just a silly romantic, but here I am getting married in June and my name is June. It’s almost like it’s meant.”
“Most people get married in June.”
“Yes. That’s true.” This was not the answer she’d hoped for. She’d rather he’d said something like, “It feels like it was meant for me too.” Not wanting to be argumentative, she said, “Well, not everybody’s name is June.”
Donald picked up a bottle of champagne and went to the bathroom to get a glass. “Pete and Bertine must’ve got a real deal on pink porcelain,” he said, coming out. He poured the glass full.
“Uh — should we go get dinner?” June asked. “There’s the Moon Shot Restaurant across the street. Just behind the Phillips 66.”
“I’m not hungry. Are you?”
“No, I ate a sandwich.”
“Then let’s go to bed.”
Timidly, June picked up her overnight case — white leather, a gift from her aunt Nella — and went into the bathroom. She showered, then splashed on lilac-scented body lotion. A gift from her niece Peggy.
Embarrassed, thrilled, and a little giddy all at the same time, she took the top item from the overnight case. It was a beautiful lace nightgown, with ruffles at the hem and neckline. The girls from the Kresge five-and-dime where June worked had pooled their money and bought it for her. There were some other gifts at the shower that were embarrassing, but June had pretended to be too sophisticated to notice, and if she hadn’t blushed so hard, it would have worked. One of the girls confessed that she had actually “done it” with her boyfriend, and the others glanced at one another, thinking, but not saying, that she was a fallen woman.
The nightgown was a lovely orchid color. There had been much laughing at the shower, when two of the girls insisted it was lilac and would “go” with Peggy’s lilac scent. Three of them said the color was orchid, and June herself kept saying lavender, and they all giggled. A satin ribbon in darker orchid was threaded through eyelets around the neckline and tied in a bow in front. June wondered briefly if she would look like a candy box, but then thought, no, it was beautiful, and it went well with her dark hair. She slipped it down over her shoulders, wiggled it over her hips, smoothed everything into place with nervous hands, and stepped out of the bathroom.
Don lay on the bed, on top of the bedspread, asleep in his clothes.
“Donald?” He didn’t stir. “Donald? Here I am.”
He still didn’t stir, so she touched his shoulder. The glass on the night table was empty. Half of the new bottle of champagne was gone.