The Sears Boy

On a typical weekend, my friend, Suzi, and I drove downtown to go to a party at a bar. This night we were in the Tudor Lounge off Chippewa Street, drinking beer and mingling with the Friday night crowd. Suzi - as she often did – went out to her car with a man and left me stranded in the bar. I continued to drink, not yet altogether concerned about how I’d get home. A pleasant looking young man sat down on the stool next to me. He began talking to me, though there was a look in his eyes as if he was in a distant place removed from the bar. I took a sip of beer and looked away.

He immediately said, “A photo of me was in a Sears catalog.” He turned and showed me the front of his face. It occurred to me that he was a goodlooking guy, but not exceptionally so. The young man said that his name was Paul and that he was a male model. I didn’t ask him who did his photoshoots or even how it was that Sears found him. He seemed like quite a boring person to me.

“Do you come to this bar often?” I asked him. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“I’m here every night,” he said.

I didn’t believe him.

“Do you play pool or darts?”

“No.”

“Do you know Suzi, the girl with the blond hair?”

“Where is she?” he asked.

“She left for the night.”

I told him that I needed a ride home.

“Well… The last bus and the last subway left,” he said.

“Paul, I have no transportation at all. How are you getting home yourself?” I asked him. “Do you have a car?”

“I don’t know how I’ll get back yet,” he said.

“Well, how’d you get here?”

“Took the bus and walked.”

I continued to drink.

“Do you know anyone here who can give me a ride?”

“I’ll get you home,” he said. “I can do it.”

We headed out onto Main Street. Automobiles were racing down the street, their headlights glowing brightly in my eyes as they passed. Between cars, the streets were dead, black, and gloomy. “We’re going to have to hitchhike,” I said, and stuck out my thumb.

“Let me stand out here,” Paul said. “My looks.”

I was a bit irritated – how could a male, decent-looking as he might be, be more likely to get someone to stop than me? Even if I was fat and ugly, a woman is going to get a ride – not him. I continued to hitchhike. Cars flew by so fast I knew they didn’t have time to look at me and stop. Paul wandered out in front of me. The cars seemed to zoom past us even faster. I allowed him to stand in the limelight for a short while since I didn’t want to argue.

The police came. There was an old male cop in the driver’s seat and a very large female officer on the passenger side. I began telling them a story. “I was with my friend, Crazy Suzi,” I said. “A guy in the bar bought her drinks all night, and they went back to her car. After a while, I went out to check, and she was giving the guy a blow job in the front seat, so I left.”

The old man interrupted, “But you cannot hitchhike.”

“I needed a ride,” I said. “I couldn’t just bother her while she’s carrying on like that. But I went out there to check an hour later and her Nissan was gone. Me and my friend have to get home.”

The fat woman looked critically at me. “You’re going to have to find another way home. Was there anyone else in your group who wasn’t drinking?”

“No,” I told her.

“Can you call a family member or friend?”

“I’ll see,” I said. But I didn’t know anyone that I could call so late.

The officers told us to get out of the street and find a ride some other way, and drove off.

“We have to hitchhike,” I told Paul.

“Jill! The cops just told us no.”

“But they’re gone.”

I stuck my thumb back out. Paul tried to nose me out. “Paul, you get the fuck out of my face. I’m the tits and ass here not you, you asshole.” He just looked at the ground, having that same faraway look that he had in the bar.

“You’re stuck on yourself and it’s because of you that we don’t get a ride.”

We continued to tempt the cars on Main Street and it started to drizzle. It was becoming colder, rainy, and the air grew humid. Paul and I walked down the road as we hitchhiked. I was feeling lost. I reached my thumb out into the street. My companion appeared frustrated, as I didn’t allow him all the attention this time.

Law enforcement returned. It was the same cops as before.

“Why are you here again, you big dumb broad?” I shouted. I grabbed the woman’s plump arm.

“Hey!” she said. “Don’t you dare touch me or I’ll arrest you for that! You have to stop hitchhiking now. It’s not legal in this state and there have been complaints. Find another way home. If I keep catching you out here, we’ll take you to the holding center.”

I started feeling mischievous, I was still intoxicated and thought I’d mess with her.

“Mama, mama, come out and help me!” I cried. “Come out!” I tried pulling her out through the window by her fat arm.

“You’re being disrespectful of an officer of the law! Do you want me to arrest you tonight?” She threw her door open and squeezed her huge body out of the car. I ran. She caught me and put her club across my throat and forced me down on the hood of the car. I was laughing and laughing. The old man cop came out and stood next to her.

“Do you want to take her somewhere and beat her up?” She looked at him. He stared into my amused eyes and started chuckling himself. The woman withdrew the club from my throat and the two of them gave us more threats and warnings and left.

I found Paul again, way back of the road just past the sidewalk. He mis-stepped a few times then silently walked back with me to the street.

“How we gonna get home now?” he said.

“We have to hitchhike,” I answered. e si

This time Paul let me see that both hands were in his pockets. I walked five feet into the lane and held my thumb clearly in the air so that everyone could see me. As the vehicles passed by, every tire threw water at us from the ditches in the street, and my hair curled up from the humidity. I looked at Paul. He didn’t need to pat his own hair down - he thinks he’s gorgeous exactly how he is. He began to talk about the Sears catalog again.

Fifteen minutes passed. I was getting sick of being rejected. I pulled my shirt way up to my neck, exposing myself. A graying old man in an old green Fiat swerved and pulled up to the curb immediately. He leaned over and flung the passenger side door open. Paul and I were so relieved. We rushed into the car. I lit a cigarette.

“You can’t smoke in my car,” the man, Bob, said. Bob reached for my cigarette to grab it and take it from me. I realized that he might be crazy and I threw the cigarette out the window and put the pack away.

“Who’s that guy?” he demanded, turning and glaring at Paul.

“We’re just friends,” I said.

The man put his hand on my knee. “Ya gotta nice leg, honey!” he said. “Reach out and tough someone, that’s what I always say,” the man chuckled.

“Isn’t that the Bell Telephone song? We’re going to my place,” I said. “It’s on Woodcrest off Buffalo Street.”

He didn’t respond.

Bob began reaching into his pants. I did not want to see this.

“Paul,” I said, turning. “I’m getting dropped off first, right?”

The man withdrew his hand and stared hard at the road.

It was after midnight. Paul and I stumbled into my house and went into the den where the family watched TV and entertained company. Paul leaned back on the love seat. He didn’t talk. My mother and sisters were puttering around the house, avoiding the den. I knew that my mom was going to ask questions.

Paul pulled his pants down and dropped them to his knees.

“Why’d ya do that?” I groaned.

He looked blank and mumbled some talk that was incoherent. I could tell by the look on his face that he did not like me, but expected me to service him.

I heard my mother’s footsteps. She started to say, “Were you drinking tonight? When is your friend leaving?” I stretched my whole body across the love seat, covering Paul’s lap and his standing dick. My mother didn’t see it. I just hoped I could get through this night intact.

“Soon, Mom, very soon,” I said quickly, hoping she wouldn’t hang around.  She was patient for the moment and exited the den.

Ten minutes later she came back. I threw myself across his body again, covering almost the entire small couch. Paul seemed unaware of what was going on. He expected a blow job, but he’d have to get that from Suzi. Paul was an unusual person, I thought, so self-absorbed and conceited.

“He’s going in a minute. Just give us one more minute.”

“It’s too late for guests, Jill! You know better.”

She made her way to the kitchen.

I couldn’t believe I was actually getting away with this.

“Paul, you have to go now!” I scolded. “You heard my mom.”

I grabbed his pant leg and tossed it. “Now!” I had to shout, as he hadn’t yet emerged from his own private emptiness. He rose slowly and mechanically.

We stood at the side door. I thought that maybe he’d want my phone number but he didn’t ask for it.

I said, “I hope you get home.”

“So do I,” he replied, frowning and staring into his own vacuum.

As he began to leave, we stood across from each other face to face, and he gave me a look that showed profound disappointment.

I didn’t watch him as he trudged away.

That was the last I saw of the Sears boy.

© Rose Berger, 3/2024