Our Town Read Online Free PDF Page B

He’d drive the whole way. She wasn’t much of a driver. And, anyway, he needed some time to himself.
    DALE GOT HUNGRY , later, driving. While Dorothy slept more—curled in on herself like a puppy—he saw a sign that read MADONNA INN as he continued down the 1, which he’d heard of, he thought. Maybe he’d read about it in the trades. Maybe it was just one of those places. Those places they put in brochures about California. California: Find Yourself Here! A real, true landmark. The only place to be. Dale took the right exit, at Madonna Road—exit 201. But it wasn’t on the right. And it wasn’t on the left. They pulled into a desolate shopping area—a sign read In-N-Out Burger , Obispo Community College—Go Pelicans!, and Lou’s Handsome Thrift —but it wasn’t there either. Walls looked fake, like they were only an exterior. Light and empty. Overly described and under-important. Like cardboard. A set.
    Dale rolled down the window to ask two men directions, but, on second glance, decided otherwise. They didn’t look right. Hollow like the walls. He turned back around.
    As he left the complex, he realized it must be on the other side of the highway. He got back on then and got back off on the right side.
    A rectangular piece of whitewood was erected in the middle of the parking lot. At the top was an oval painting, surrounded by round white light bulbs like those on a vanity mirror, of a carriage being drawn by two horses in front of a cloudy white sky—a cowboy at the front steered the reins. Underneath was a lit-up square pink sign. The words MADONNA INN were electrified neon in turquoise. He pulled past and found a spot. The lot was near empty. He poked two fingers into Dorothy’s ribs and she woke up; she was sore there so she woke up.
    “Hey,” she squeaked.
    “You hungry, baby?” he asked.
    “I’m tired,” she answered, rubbing her side and scratching her eyelids. “Really tired. But yeah, I guess so.”
    They got out and walked toward the hammered-copper stairs. They didn’t hold hands.
    “What’d you give me?” Dorothy asked.
    “What do you mean? Nothing. Same as always.”
    “I just really slept and now I’m groggy.”
    “Good, baby. You were tired. And you’ll wake up with some coffee. I mean, if you want to, that is.”
    They walked up the crimson carpet down the center of the coppered stairs—her to the right of the handrail, him to the left—and, as they pushed through a large, wooden saloon door with a heart cut out and filled in with pink stained glass in the center, a hostess greeted them. “Howdy!”
    “Oh, hi,” Dale said, surprised. The woman stood close and shouted, her podium too near. Her stand was too close to the doorway.
    “What can I do for y’all?” She wore a pink pilgrim dress with a muffled pink apron, a pink headband, and pigtails tied in pink bows. She was freckly. Pale-pink skin, tawny red hair, and an affected accent. Dale couldn’t tell whether that was part of the job description or something “cute” she’d picked up along her way.
    “Table for two, I guess.”
    “You got it, darlin’s,” and she grabbed two oversized wood menus. “Follow me.”
    She led them to their table. Dale made sure to stand one step behind her. Do was by his side.
    “This place is weird, right?”
    “Yeah, very,” Do replied.
    “Very, very,” Dale repeated and looked around.
    “Should we just go with it? I’m suddenly starving.”
    “Yeah. I mean, I guess we have to. I’m real hungry, too.”
    They walked past a pink bar with pink and gold bar stools and a foamy-pink ledge. They walked over a pink-and-red carpet with pink roses blooming and splats of blue hyacinths growing from the pinkrose stems. Pink stucco pillars led the way—faux Greek classical—but fashioned to look as though they were really carved from one piece of pink stone. All from the same rock, like they used to be. They arrived at a red booth with a navy chandelier. Gold trim. Pink bulbs.