DO NOT DISTURB hung from the outside doorknob.
She was a schoolmarm who couldn’t resist a good-looking referee, tall and built.
The morning after the game. Seedy motel room. The smell of stale cigarettes clinging to the walls.
His striped black and white jersey and trousers lay crumpled up on the floor next to the bed.
“Get up!” She slid the heavy blackout curtain to one side.
Sunlight glared into the room.
“I’m staying in bed.” The referee rolled over. “Close the damn curtain.”
“You heard me. Get up.” She yanked off the blanket.
“Excuse me, lady,” he retorted. “But you said you wanted some fun, and I’m not done.”
“Well, I am. You may look good on the court, but you’re not worth shit in bed.”
“And you’re nothing more than a two-bit whore.” He jumped out of bed and picked up his pants. Hopping around, he pulled them to his waist.
She took a few steps forward and looked him in the eye. She slapped his face. “That’s what you get for calling me a whore.”
He rubbed his cheek. “Bitch.”
“I’m checking out. If you want to stay in this dump, it’s on you.” She strolled to the mirror over a sidebar, brushed her blonde hair back, and grabbed her purse.
With hands-on knees, he sat on the edge of the bed, “What did you say your name was?”
She took a pair of dark glasses from her handbag and slipped them on. “Marilyn. Marilyn Monroe.”
Chuckling, she strolled down the hallway. Next time, I’ll be Jane Mansfield.