Our Town Read Online Free PDF Page A

hands and craned her arms from his shoulder.
    “Yeah, I guess so.”
    “I really love you, too.”
    “I love you more, baby.”
    Dale reached up and broke Dorothy’s grasp and held her right index finger with his right hand.
    “I love you more, baby,” he said again and looked into her eyes and kissed her. Right then he meant it, he thought. The tawny port was helping, too.
    A cocktail waitress in a black mini approached them from behind with a tray of half-full champagne flutes. They took two. A waiter then came from behind her, and he had black and white plastic bowler hats—inscripted Happy New Year! —feather boas, and kazoos. Dorothy took white, and Dale took black, naturally. He put a boa around his wife’s neck and felt the grain of the feathers on his fingertips. It was soft, and he thought back to the dog Dorothy had said she wanted. He, again, wasn’t sure it was a good idea.
    Everyone cheered and kissed after midnight. Dale and Dorothy sipped on what was left of their drinks. A black man with clean white teeth in a baby-blue tuxedo took their picture with an Instamatic and then gave it to them. Dale let go of Dorothy’s hand and shook out the Polaroid. Then the piano player took back the mic. “Does anyone want to sing one last song?” she shouted, her head shaking, her red hair bouncing and alive.
    No one responded for a moment. Then a cowboy stood up from one of the dinner tables, his checked shirt tucked into his jeans and belted in a silver buckle, hat down low over his eyes. Everyone seemed to know him. Everyone applauded. Local celebrity. Around here, a star. He emerged from the crowd at the front of the room, took the microphone, and then whispered in the piano player’s ear.
    “I’m gonna do something we all know.” He closed his eyes. “Something yellow, for old time’s sake. So let’s all sing,” he said, his voice gruff and tired. And then, sardonic, “Let’s all sing. Johnny Angel, everyone! How I love him!”
    And they all sang together. In harmony, together.
    And I pray that someday he’ll love me
    And together we will see how lovely heaven will be . . .
    *    *    *
    They were drunk when they got back to their room. Dale opened the door, and Dorothy walked in and fell toward the bed. She lay on her back. She’d had the most fun. She was just so happy.
    “I loved it there,” she said.
    “Yeah, baby. Me too.”
    Dale’d brought another bottle of champagne back with them to the room. He’d stopped at a gas station. It was cheap, but he wasn’t finished.
    “I’m gonna go get some ice,” he said.
    “Okay,” she replied. “Wait, what do you need ice for?”
    “I like it,” he responded. “Hot champagne’s disgusting.” And the door slammed closed as he left.
    When he returned, Dorothy had undressed to her underwear, and she was laid back with her hands behind her head and her legs crossed at the knee. He handed her a plastic cup and poured champagne to its brim. Then he poured some for himself. He put an ice cube in each glass and hers overflowed. He’d already started sipping. He sat down on the bed. She swung around behind him and straddled his back. She began to unbutton his shirt. But, with her glass in her hand, filled all the way up, she spilled some. Champagne soiled his pants—new pants—and he felt it in his boxers. He got angry, and he pushed her off. When he did so, she fell back, and, in attempting to catch herself, her plastic cup flew from her hand. It struck Dale in the side of his head and now the bed was soiled, too. And Dale got angrier.
    He took his shirt off and walked to the bathroom with brut in his hair. As he stood before the mirror angry, he decided he had to pee. Hanging his wet shirt around his neck like a scarf, he unzipped and went and then felt better. But he was still mad. As he went to flush,he stumbled back and, trying to catch his balance—trying to right himself—he knocked the car keys, which he’d placed on the sink