Queen of the Roller Derby

"Are you here for the derby tryouts?" she asked.

For a second, all I could think about was how cute she was. She had green eyes and strawberry blonde hair in a pixie cut, like Audrey Hepburn's. There was a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks.

"Yeah, I am," I managed to say.

She smiled and little dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth.

"Great. Your name?"

"Kitty Boyd."

"Welcome, Kitty," she said, writing it down on her clipboard, "My name is Myra O'Connor. I am the A-1 Comets manager."

"That's the team's name?"

She wrinkled her nose. "You don't like it?"

"It's okay, I guess. So, you're the coach?"

"No, I'm the manager. I take care of the business, the paperwork, that sort of thing. Joe is the coach. Come on in and meet him."

I followed her into the rink. A group of girls were sitting on the bleachers. Angie was the only one I recognized.

"One more, Joe," Myra said.

He turned and looked at me. He reminded me of Lou Costello. His slacks were held up by suspenders over the big slope of his belly. An unlit cigar stub poked out of the corner of his mouth.

"Well, give her a number," he said, "Let's get this show on the road."

There was a stack of papers on the lowest bleacher, each with a large black number on it. Myra picked up the top sheet, number eighteen.

"Turn around," she said. She safety pinned the number to the back of my blouse.

"Take a seat, kid," Coach Joe growled.

I sat down with the other girls and put on my skates.

"We'll give it a few minutes, see if any more show up," he said. He waited about twenty seconds before he said, "Piss on it, let's get started."

He looked over the women on the bench like he smelled something bad at the fish market.

"Any of youse got experience in roller derby?" he asked.

A woman on the far end raised her hand.

"Okay. Where did you play, honey?"

"Oh, I didn't play," she said, "But when we lived in Chicago, me and my dad used to go watch sometimes."

"Christ on a crutch," Joe muttered. He looked at Myra with a hopeless expression.. "Let's just see them skate."

Myra gave us an apologetic smile. "Okay," she said, "Numbers one through six, please take one lap around, just to show us your form and then, on the second lap, we'd like to see you skate for speed."

The first six girls clomped down to the floor. They stood there awkwardly, like they were waiting for someone to fire a starter's pistol.

"You come to skate or to pick your butts?" Joe shouted, "Go!"

That moved them. They started around the rink, bunched together.

"They look like a herd of sheep," Joe said, "Myra, tell them to spread out."

"Spread out, girls!" Myra called. No one gave any sign that they heard her. When they came around, she clapped her hands to get their attention. "Let's see your speed now, girls," she shouted, "But watch out for the kids."

You could hardly tell that they sped up. But there was one girl who moved out in front of the others. I was surprised because she was big, kind of hefty and just looked slow. Chuckie had said that part of the game was knocking the crap out of each other. I figured if that was true, she had a pretty good shot at making the team.

They finished the lap and Myra waved them in. They slowed down and came back to the bleachers. Joe and Myra moved a few steps away, put their heads together and conferred in low tones. Myra made a few marks on her clipboard, then turned back to us.

"Can we have the next six?" she called.

Angie was number nine. She was wearing a pair of pink short shorts and a peasant blouse. That didn't seem fair, like she was hoping they would pick her for her looks, but as I watched her line up with the other girls, I had to admit, she did look pretty good. No wonder she was so fast, with those long legs.

Myra sent them off on their first lap. Angie wasted no time making sure she got their attention. She moved right out in front of the rest and stayed there. When they came back around for the second lap, she really threw it into high gear, circling the rink and returning to the starting point before the others were even halfway around.

So far, Angie was the only one in my league, so I thought I had a pretty good shot at making the team. But nobody had said how many girls they were going to pick.

Myra and Joe conferred again, then called up the last group. My group.

I thought about strategy. If I tried to impress them with speed, I might not impress them as much as long legged Angie. Most of the other people who had been on the rink, the moms with their kids and the few handholding couples, had retreated to the bleachers to watch us, so I had some room to maneuver. I figured my best bet was to show off a few tricks.

I decided to take them by surprise. When Myra said go, I started out at a moderate pace, keeping to the middle of the pack. I waited until I was around the first curve, then I took off. There were four skaters in front of me. I ducked to my right, passing the first one, then veered to my left and passed another. I weaved around the other two and by the time we reached the second curve, I was a good ten feet in front of the group. I cleared the last curve and headed for Myra and Joe. Twenty feet out, I bent forward, spread my arms wide, raised my right foot behind me and glided by them. I heard a few whoops from the bleachers. I was sure one of them was from Angie.

I put everything I had into that second lap. I was going so fast I almost slammed into the boards rounding the first corner. On the straightaway I felt like I had that day on Connor Avenue, racing the plane. The fastest girl in the world.

I focused on the second turn and took it without a hitch. I spun and flew by the finish line backwards, while my competitors were still rounding the corner.

I did a few slow down loops in the center of the rink, then returned to the bleachers. Most of the girls were staring at me with their mouths hanging open. Angie gave me a thumbs up sign. Joe's cigar was hanging on his lower lip, defying gravity, and Myra had a big smile on her face. There were those dimples again.

I sat down next to Angie. She bumped her shoulder against mine and smiled at me. I felt guilty that I had been rooting for her to fall on her ass.

Joe and Myra walked further away from the group and spent several minutes going over the clipboard. Finally, Joe took it from her, walked back over and stood in front of us.

"Number four," he barked. That was the big girl in the first group.

"Number nine." Angie. No surprise.

"Number eleven. Number twelve." They were sisters, in the second group with Angie.They weren't fast, but they looked tough.

"Number eighteen." I knew he was going to call my number, but I still sighed in relief when I actually heard it. He handed the clipboard back to Myra, then looked up at us. Hunching his shoulders, he said, "What? We're done here."

Myra stepped in front of him. "Ladies, thank you all for coming today," she said, "If your number was called, please stay. We will get all your information and tell you what you need to know."

There was some grumbling as those who were not chosen left the rink. I didn't feel bad for them. I don't think any of them were real skaters, they were just looking for a job and happened to have a pair of skates around the house.

"You got this covered?" Joe asked Myra. She nodded, and he said, "Good, there's a barstool with my name on it across the street at Duffy's."

He took one more look at the five of us, his new players, shook his head woefully and left.

Myra looked much happier. "Ladies, why don't we go to the snack bar?" she said, "We can sit out there and go over the paperwork."

As we got up and followed her, the big girl tapped me on the arm.

"Hey, you think you could teach me how to do that backwards shit?" she asked.

"Sure," I told her, although I was dubious she could pull it off.

"Great." She held out her hand and I shook it. "Eloise Budzynski. But everybody calls me Budz."

"Kitty Boyd."

"Nice to meet you. Man, that was like watching Sonia fuckin' Henje out there."

We went to the snack area and sat down at one of the round tables. Myra looked at her clipboard, then pointed at me. "Boyd?" she asked.

"Right."

"Lombardi?"

"That's me," Angie said.

"Budzynski?"

"Buttinski?" Angie asked with a smirk.

Budz glared at her. "Last person said that had a knuckle sandwich for lunch. Watch your mouth, wop."

"You callin' me a wop?" Angie shouted, leaning across the table toward her.

"Girls, girls," Myra said, "You're teammates now. Take it easy."

Angie sat back in her chair and crossed her arms in front of her. "I'm sorry. I thought that was what you said. Now I know better. But she needs to watch who she calls a wop."

Myra looked at the two of them warily, then turned to the sisters. "Connie and Donna Kinney. Who is who?"

The bigger one held up her hand. "I'm Connie."

"Okay, thanks."

As Myra jotted down a note, the other sister said, "And I'm Donna."

"Okay, got that."

She pulled some papers from her clipboard and passed them around the table. I took one and looked at it. It was a job application form.

"Fill these out," Myra said, "Where it asks for salary requested, write in sixty dollars per week."

That was pretty good money. My dad was UAW, and he made about eighty.

"Are any of you currently employed?" she asked.

Angie, Connie and I raised our hands. Myra looked at Connie first.

"Will you need to give them notice that you are leaving?" she asked.

"Will they give me notice if they fire me?"

"No, of course not."

"Okay then."

Angie shrugged. "I work in my dad's store, it's no big deal."

I was conflicted. I did not want to leave Herrimans' in the lurch. Specifically, I did not want to walk away and put Peggy in a bind, particularly since she'd done me a favor by covering for me. But I was afraid that if I said yes, I'd get off on the wrong foot.

"I suppose I should give them a week," I mumbled.

"It's fine," Myra said cheerfully, "We will start practice without you, but I'm sure you'll have no trouble catching up."

Reassured, I finished filling out the application and handed it back to her. Maybe it was just my imagination, but it seemed like, when she took it, she looked at me a little bit longer than normal, and the corners of her mouth rose a little bit. But then her eyes dropped and she turned to the others.

"Okay, does everyone know where the plant is?" she asked.

We all nodded.

"Good. You'll need to report to the personnel office on Monday at eight." She looked at me. "And Kitty, I'll see you the next week."

As I went back to the rink to get my shoes, it struck me odd that she had said "I'll see you." Not, "We'll see you," or just "See ya."

"I'll see you." Something about that seemed special, like the way she looked at me when I handed her the application had seemed special.

CHAPTER TWO

My parents were very happy when I told them that I got a job at A-1 Manufacturing. My mother was excited at the possibility that I might meet a nice young fella working there. I did not tell them that my real job was going to be skating in the roller derby. I figured that I would wait a few weeks and then tell them that the plant had a team, and I'd joined it.

Peggy got a little teary eyed when I told her I was quitting at the drug store, but she was thrilled that I had made the team. Mr. Herriman asked me if I would reconsider. I asked him if he'd match the salary A-1 had offered, and that was the end of that conversation.

I was anxious for the week to pass. I got through it by going to the Roll-A-Rama every day after work. On weeknights, it was nearly empty, and I spent a lot of time practicing my moves, picturing imaginary obstacles and maneuvering past them.

On Saturday, I was taking laps, frustrated by the weekend crowd blocking me from doing anything more, when I heard someone behind me call my name.

I turned my head and saw Angie. She quickly caught up to me.

"Boy, I'm going to be glad to see you Monday," she said.

"Why?" I asked, "Is it that bad?"

"Well, let's just say that most of these girls might be rollers, but they ain't skaters, if you get my drift."

"They can stay upright and move, but that's about it?"

She shrugged. "Most of the time, yeah. And let me tell you, it's more complicated than I thought."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you don't just race.While you are racing, the other team tries to block you. So your teammates have to block them from blocking you. And there's penalties and time outs and shift changes, all kinds of stuff."

"What about that Coach Joe? Is he as big a jerk as he seems?"

"He's not so bad. I think he's just frustrated because the team is so lousy."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Myra is really nice, though."

I perked up at the mention of her name. "What's her story? It seems like kind of an odd job for a girl to have, running the team."

"Did you know that her dad owns the company?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, what the girls who have been there a while said is that she wanted to be in on the management of the company, but he wouldn't give her anything important to do. So she started the team just to show him she could run things."

"If he's like my parents he's probably hoping she finds a guy to marry and forgets about the company."

"Maybe. I haven't heard anything about her having a husband or a boyfriend or anything."

I felt a weird fluttering in my stomach when Angie said that. I still didn't understand what I was feeling, but I became even more anxious for Monday morning to come.

****

When I was a little girl, we would drive down the wide industrial streets after dark on the way home from my grandmother's house or on the rare occasion that we went out to dinner. We passed dozens of factories, most of them working second shifts, and I could see the light glowing from their high windows. They were never clear, though, you couldn't see through them. They were amber or gray. I thought they were colored glass. I didn't realize until I was older that they were coated with dust and grime and soot. A-1 Manufacturing had windows like that.

I parked near the front door on Monday morning. Myra said to be there at eight. I got there a good fifteen minutes early.

I walked into a small reception area. There were a couple of leatherette couches and a fake rubber tree plant against one wall. In the corner, a lady sat behind a desk. She had cats eye glasses hanging from a chain around her neck. As I approached her desk she put them on and squinted at me.

"Can I help you, dearie?" she asked.

"I'm supposed to start work today," I told her.

She looked at me dubiously, then rifled through a stack of papers on her desk.

"Are you certain, dearie? I don't see anything about any new employees starting today."

"I'm here for the roller derby team."

From the look on her face, I could tell she did not approve. "Oh," she said, "One of Myra's girls. Hold on."

She picked up her phone, dialed a number and waited. It must've rang a dozen times before someone picked up on the other end.

Suddenly her voice turned sweet. "Miss O'Connor," she said, "I have another one of your skater girls here. Should I send her down?"

I remembered Angie telling me that Myra was the boss's daughter, and couldn't help smirking a little.

Miss Cats Eyes hung up the phone. "Someone will come down and get you," she said, with a waving gesture that let me know she was through with me.

I sat down on one of the leatherette couches, feeling like I was back in school, sitting outside the principal's office. It was only a couple of minutes before I heard a voice yell "Kitty!"

I looked up and saw Budz in the doorway. "God damn, I'm glad to see you, girl!" she said.

"We don't talk that way around here," the receptionist chided.

Budz ignored her. "Come on," she said, "I'll take you back. Hey, where are your skates?"

"I left them in the car."

I hurried out to get them from the trunk and rushed back.

Budz gestured for me to follow her.

"Tomorrow, drive around the back and park." she said, "I'll show you where. But you still have to come into this shit hole to punch in every day."

We walked to the end of the hallway. Budz pushed open a big steel door and we entered the main room of the factory.

The first thing I noticed was the noise. I looked down the length of the cavernous building. There were four rows of huge punch presses, twenty feet tall or more. They made me think of pictures I had seen of dinosaur skeletons in museums. The ones in the distance seemed to be lurking in the fog, the air was so full of dust. In addition to their rhythmic banging, the room was a flurry of activity. Hi-lo's were buzzing back-and-forth, moving racks of sheet metal or picking up huge hoppers full of scrap.

"What are they making?" I shouted to Budz.

She shook her head and pointed to her ear.

I shouted louder.

"Dashboards," she yelled back, "For Chevy."

She showed me where the time clock was and how to punch in. There was a single bathroom alongside the clock, and a door marked Employee Break Room.

She opened it and waved me inside. It didn't seem very big for the size of the plant. There were a dozen round formica tables surrounded by molded plastic chairs, and a row of vending machines along one wall. A group of men in blue coveralls sat at one of the tables, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. When they saw us their conversation stopped.

Budz put her head close to mine. In a low voice she said, "This ain't a very friendly place, but if you wanna get a bottle of pop or a chocolate bar or something this is where you come."

The men were staring at us. Budz pasted a fake smile on her face. 'How ya doin', fellas?" she called out.

"We're doin'," one guy muttered. His pals just glared in silence.

"All right, keep up the good work." She nudged me with her elbow. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

She led me down the center aisle of the stamping room. As we passed the presses, most of the workers paid us no mind. The few who did notice us gave us the same hostile stares as the men in the break room. Among the hundreds of workers in the plant, I only saw a handful of women, and they seemed the most hostile of all.

At the far end of the building, Budz pushed open another steel door and we stepped outside. The area behind the factory looked like the place where the company spit out what it didn't want. There were high stacks of wooden pallets, hoppers filled with rusting scrap, sagging cardboard boxes and pieces of broken machinery strewn across the lot. On the far side was a long, low warehouse. Half of its blood red paint had peeled off to expose bare boards.

"Why all the dirty looks in there?" I asked as we carefully made our way across the potholed asphalt.

Budz let out a snorting laugh. "Look what they do for a living," she said, "Hauling heavy steel and sweating their nuts off and here we come along and get paid to roller skate. I fuckin' wouldn't like me either if I was them."

I saw her point.

I was blinded for a moment, as we went from the bright sunlight into the dimly lit warehouse. But I could hear just fine, and what I heard was instantly recognizable; wheels on wood.

When I could see again, I looked around. The space seemed small compared to the cavernous stamping plant, but it was big enough to hold a long, angled oval track, despite the piles of crates and hoppers along both sides of the building.

There were two girls skating around the track. As we passed them, Budz told me, "The redhead is Lulu, the brunette is Cora. They ain't bad."

Beyond the track, the rest of the team was gathered around a long table. Some of them were drinking coffee, a few were smoking cigarettes. I saw Myra, sitting off to the side behind a wooden desk, scribbling on a piece of paper. She looked up, our eyes met, and she smiled.