Ollie Mallard
2648 Words
His wife decided to kick him out, because he no longer took care of himself. He had grown huge at the middle and refused to work. He thought he was better off without his arm, now that he had broken it. His name was Ollie Mallard, and he blamed work for causing most of his problems. But since he no longer worked and didn’t contribute anything to the household, his wife wanted him out. There were too many things to be done, such as mowing the lawn, pruning the hedges, and cleaning up after his gargantuan meals. He generally stayed in his home all day watching talk shows as his poor wife maneuvered and picked up the garbage littered around him. She worked part-time at the clinic, while he sat on the couch and got fat. That was her major complaint.While Ollie didn’t have much to complain about, he did mention that his wife wouldn’t have any more s*x with him. This was his chief complaint, but it wasn’t anything to fight over. He remained on the sofa watching television, leaving empty bags of potato chips and candy wrappers strewn all around him. His only excuse was his broken arm that he had gotten from working at the plant. It would be unwise for him to return to work, because he received worker’s compensation. He would make more as a disabled person than a worker and so decided to lie around the house until his arm fully healed. This was in direct opposition to what his wife wanted.
He figured that his wife wanted him to rehabilitate his arm, as any responsible husband would do. She wanted him to see an occupational therapist, go to the gym, and start eating healthily for a change – anything other than chips, candy, cookies, and ice cream. She ordered him to pack and leave. He could return only when he was ready to make changes.
Ollie brought out a suitcase from the attic with his one working arm and dumped all of his clothing into it. He knew he had been beaten down by his broken arm, but he also took full advantage of his disabled condition. His wife took the time to feed him at one point, but this was the last straw. He had to leave. It was the dead of winter. He guessed he would stay at a nearby motel until his wife missed him all over again.
But it wasn’t the case that Ollie didn’t want to change and return to work. He thought many times over that he should join a gym and begin to rehabilitate his broken arm. But then he thought that gyms were rip-offs, and that he should diet first before trying to exercise. He had turned into quite a shlub, as he didn’t know what other name could best describe the state he was in.
Once at the motel, though, he was filled with a nervous energy. His body wanted him to get up and move around, but his mind told him to stay put on the bed while watching another talk show, featuring paternity tests, lie detector tests, and pugnacious fat women. He liked such shows, as these, he believed, were the only shows worth watching, especially when there was nothing entertaining to do. He had lost touch with life and needed something to bring him closer to it. It was a restless laziness. It was driving him bonkers just sitting there staring at the television screen for a day or two. He loved motels, though, because he no longer had his wife to nag him, and he didn’t have to clean anything up. He even ventured outside across the highway to buy a six pack of beer, thinking that this would certainly entertain him for the rest of the night.
After finishing the six pack and feeling alive and lucky as hell, he again crossed the dangerous highway in the dead of winter, an eighteen-wheeler speeding past him. He bought yet another six pack – a ‘potato’, his fellow workmen used to call it. He drank it down quickly but didn’t feel like having anything else, and without more booze he was bored silly. He yearned to go to a bar, as he wanted to reengage his not-so-distant past of watching the young women there and seeing how they flirted with other guys. He was, however, in no shape to flirt.
He didn’t pursue the idea any further, even though he desperately wanted company all of a sudden, the shows on television a reminder of how he fell behind in both body and mind. The world, he figured, had advanced by leaps and bounds. He was left behind to suffer the decay of older age. He saw every commercial they thew on the screen for a few hours. He determined that he would never be able to afford the new technology and would never be as wealthy as those portrayed on those commercials. Yet, he still needed a woman’s company.
He picked up the phone book and flipped through the escorts section. He had some money at least. He looked to spend it on a cheap thrill. He called. They were sending someone over. He waited for a few hours, staying awake for this escort, until finally, he received a phone call confirming his place of residence at the motel. The girl was coming soon.
The girl’s driver called next. He said that he was almost there. They were very late. He had just about had it, when he heard a soft knock at the door a few hours later at three in the morning. He let her in. He was ready to go.
When she knocked, Ollie was very excited but had also grown tremendously tired from the long wait. She said her name was Gypsy, and this woman was nothing like the sun, so to speak. Actually, he thought her on the ugly side. The dispatcher on the phone gave him the impression that the woman was hot, but this Gypsy was directly the opposite. She was thin, reed-like. She had disheveled brown hair. And the worst part about it? She hardly had any breasts, not even fake ones. Her eyes were almost black. Ollie thought she could have used some fake breasts at least - not that he could tell the difference between real ones and fake ones. But she was as flat as a board but still exuding a confidence that seemed a bit out of place for the occasion, as though she knew much more than he did. He pegged her as a college student right away.
“Yeah, I’m in college,” she said, “This is how I pay my tuition.”
“You must be very smart,” said Ollie, hoping that she would spare him the conversation and get to business. But she wanted to talk more, and he tolerated it.
“What are you majoring in?”
“Women’s Studies.”
“What kind of subject is that?”
“It’s a lot of theory.”
“What kind of theory”
“Cultural theories on feminism.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“It is,” she said.
“But then why are you in a job like this?”
“I wanted to see what men are really like.”
“So, it’s like research, right?” asked Ollie.
“Kind of. I like to see men debase themselves.”
Ollie still couldn’t understand why Gypsy chose s*x work as her profession, but he figured she really did want to do some research on the trash that men were fast becoming. He didn’t like the idea, because he didn’t think himself a piece of trash for wanting to sleep with her - as ugly as she was. He presumed that God above had given him a s*x drive to use with women. It was also much more psychologically healthy to sleep with as many women as possible, women who could satisfy his s*x drive. He and his wife hadn’t had s*x for a while, and that’s when he called in a professional for a change.
Even though Gypsy wasn’t that great to look at, she still had limited appeal. If a woman is too pretty, then she’s too difficult. But with Gypsy, he imagined that he could do anything he wanted with her and not have any regrets. She did study feminism, though, and while feminism had endured some rough seas, there was little doubt that he still had no idea why feminists wanted an end to a male patriarchy more than anything else. He just assumed they again wanted the basic, standard rewards of power and money, just like every other man. It was a war, in other words - a war against men, and while he did want to debase himself with Gypsy, he also thought twice about it. The last thing he wanted to do was give her any more reason to be a feminist. He figured she must have been hurt in the past somewhere. But when he tried to get the s*x started, she refused and wanted to talk about Ollie’s attitude towards women.
“So, what shall we do now?” asked Ollie.
“I want to know what you think of women,” said Gypsy.
“They’re fine in my book.”
“How so?”
“They look good to me.”
“As objects, right? Well, I’m not the prettiest woman in town. Do you see me as an object?”
“I don’t get your question.”
“Do you see me as a thing rather than a person?”
“I didn’t want to spend the night with ‘a thing’” he said, “if that’s what you mean.”
“But do you see me just as a body or a s****l toy just to please you?”
“I really haven’t thought about it much,” he said, lying down on the bed next to her.
“Well, can you think about it for a little while and let me know?”
“Aren’t we going to - y’know?”
“Going to what?”
“Y’know? Fool around a little bit?”
“With me?”
“Who else is here?”
“Don’t you want to get to know me first?”
“Not really. I just think we should start.”
“So are you going to overpower me?”
“I don’t understand.”
She sighed deeply, as though Ollie were the most ignorant person on Earth.
“Already we’re dealing with an issue of power - who gets to control whom.”
“I’m not trying to do that. I just think we should start.”
“What if I’m not ready? What if I need to feel loved first?”
“I hardly know you. How can I show you love? I still love my wife.”
“And does your wife cheat on you?” she asked.
“Doubtful. Very doubtful.”
“Is that how you broke your arm? Because of her?”
“I tripped, and I fell.”
“And now she has to pick up the pieces. How nice.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Typical male talk. You leave your mess for your wife to clean up. She’s probably the sweet kind of infantilized woman. A child she must be.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ollie didn’t feel like talking anymore, but they talked like this for a half-hour straight. She wanted to find the c****s in his armor. She wanted to break him - into confessing what exactly? That he was some kind of abuser? For him to discover that he was the main problem in his own life? That she actually wanted money from him after such a nonsensical conversation?
He figured he would have to talk to her to make her feel comfortable. He wanted her to feel it too. He didn’t think of himself as a corrupt man. Hiring a call girl was the most efficient, and perhaps the most moral, way of doing things, given his situation. She’d always be in charge. She wouldn’t keep quiet and do the deed, though. She kept pushing the envelope with him. She seemed like someone who did this all the time with men who were less abusive. Add a***e, and maybe she would give it up to him.
“Do you feel the need to dominate people and situations all the time?” asked Gypsy.
“No. I tend to wiggle out of hardship.”
“And wiggle your way into having power over women by calling someone like me and knowing how poor and vulnerable I am?”
“I never thought that you were poor. You’ll be making a lot of money tonight, though, if we can just get down to it.”
“What if I don’t want to. You’ll probably r**e me, then, eh?”
“No, I won’t r**e you, but I will call to complain.”
“And I’m losing my job over you, right?”
“That’s because you’re not doing your job,” said Ollie.
“I just don’t fit your version of who a woman should be - all dolled up and ready to hop into bed with you. How incredible shallow.”
“There is nothing wrong with having s*x for s*x’s sake.”
“I hate to tell you this,” she said, “but it’s not the s*x that gets a woman turned on. Our relationship has to begin with the same kind of equality that you afford other men.”
“This is getting ridiculous.”
“Because now - because of your desire to have s*x, my job is now in jeopardy. Do you see how that works? Only when you are in a position of greater power can you have s*x with me.”
“If that’s the case, then I give up all my power to you. Can we start now?”
“So you’re saying that I’m the one in charge?”
“Yes. You are in charge. Now let’s do this thing and get it over with.”
“But I have the right to choose, right?”
“Stop asking so many questions, okay? Yes, you do have the right to choose. You are a proud woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.”
“I would agree with that,” she said, smiling. “And if I decide to not have s*x with you - isn’t that my right?”
“Yes, woman, yes! You’re giving me a headache.”
“Good. I cost two-hundred dollars.”
“Finally! Hallelujah! Now we’re getting down to business.”
“Fork over the cash, then.”
He picked up his pants from the space next to his bed and fished for his wallet. He gave her two hundred in cash.
“I am the dominant one now, aren’t I?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s the language of women that you don’t understand. I would advise you to get back to your wife and make up with her. Be a man - a man who can relate to women without having s*x with them. s*x is not the only thing. You have to be a team player.”
“I still don’t understand anything you’re saying.”
“That’s because you never care what women say. Our ideas are way over your head.”
“Fine. Just take the money and go, will you? I’ve lost my desire to sleep with you.”
“You mean, to have s*x with me.”
“Just go. I can’t take it anymore.”
When Ollie returned home, still fat with a broken arm and now penniless, he got down on his hands and knees and begged his wife’s forgiveness. This is what she wanted all along - for the reign of power to sway in her direction. Now his wife was in charge. Gypsy was now the abuser that made men kneel before their wives and apologize. He knew that Gypsy caused this, and while he went to bed that night with his wife, impotent and flaccid nonetheless, he prayed to God that he’d one day, just one day, learn how to get laid again, even though he had lost interest in having s*x with women.
He didn’t think himself gay, though, just because he couldn’t do it with women at the time. It simply opened up the reasoning that male gayness might be caused by the impotence caused, in turn, by smart, theorizing women. Maybe this is what they wanted all along, thought Ollie - to cut a man’s balls off and show them off like trophies on their wall.
He fell asleep with his wife next to him, and all the while he dreamed of making a great change. He would lose the weight and return to work. He didn’t want to deal with anyone other than his wife. Returning to work would provide an easy escape from the domestic harangue that his wife’s forgiveness had caused.
At dawn, they went out, and for once, he bought a nice breakfast of bagels and cream-cheese, but only after remembering Gypsy.
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