Night of the Junkies: Meet Jessica

The roof of Rhinestone Rink offered a postcard view of Rhinestone Boulevard. A postcard for the downfall of America. Grand brick architecture gave way to boarded windows, empty marquees, and cast a layer of soot over the street’s former glory.

Jessica steadied herself on the ledge of the roof and looked down upon the street of her birth. She looked upon her neighborhood as a fool in love and glossed over the visual scars. She was a Rhinestone girl through and through.

Born and breed on the boulevard that stretched out below. Her home address only changed apartment numbers, as she moved into a place above her parents.

Her breath came in heavy pants and sweat soaked through her sports bra. Her cream completion glistened in the pale moon light. The air was cool but her flesh couldn’t feel it. She didn’t allow herself feel it.

She had been on the roof for the last hour in the pursuit of her dream. She had one goal in life, Jessica wanted to be in the Roller Derby, an all woman sport played on roller skates.

Some called the Roller Derby a female Thunder Dome and others thought the Thunder Dome was weak by comparison. Speed and pain are the hallmarks of the Roller Derby and survival of the fittest is the rule of the day.

Only one route led to the Roller Derby; practice, practice, practice, and Jessica rolled roof sprints in hour increments, 3 times a day, every day, among her other skate-clad exercises. She worked part time at the Rink and suffered creepy advances from the Rink owner, Lou, in order to gain full access to polished wood.

She heard the call of the Derby in her dreams. The sounds of hack-sawed, bubble gum rock, the cheers of rowdy fans, and polyurethane on wood. The sound of polyurethane wheels on polished wood was the strongest drug she understood. Hook, line, and sinker; she never took off her roller skates.

She grew up on Rhinestone Blvd, a latchkey kid as both her parents were attached to their candy store. After school, she would walk the boulevard or sit in her Parent’s store and listen to the old timers talk of Rhinestone’s history.

…Each Rose Stood 10 feet Tall and Could Spit Fire…

In their day, Rhinestone Boulevard had the whispered nickname of “the Amazon” and was controlled by the only all Female gang. In a city torn by gang war, fought hand against hand, bar against bar, The Rhinestone Riveters were queens of the streets. They were a hard boiled breed of woman.

If you believe the old timers, each Rose stood 10 feet tall and could spit fire as snakes spit venom. The Riveters were a pack of lethal vixens, who wore broken nails like battle scars. If boys were too chivalrous to hit woman, the Riveters were too happy to claim victory.

When a liquored up, mob of loco gringos thought they could get an easy piece, the girls were only too happy to let them try. The police would later find their battered bodies strewn on the ground in a pile of their own vomit and gore.

The year was 1948, woman had gone to work, gone home, and went back to work. They could get jobs but the prospects of being the boss were slim. Woman were faced with the option of endless boredom in the bowels of a cubical society or marriage.

Rosie Riveter, all the Riveters were called Rosie, opted for the third choice. She saw all the boys her age in gangs, like the Hells Angles. Gangs were no better then her employment opportunities and offered the same misogyny.

Left with no alternative but the bottle and wound up in a dive bar not far from where she practiced with her derby squad.

Over the crest of a tiny umbrella, she caught sight of a thick envelope slid over the bar, from bartender to a piece of slime with a thin weasel mustache. His name was Lester and he sounded like a scum bag as he dragged out the pronunciation of the “L” in his introduction.

…More Concerned With Her Sweater Melons To See Rosie As A Threat…

Rosie was a tall, busty chick built for speed and durability. She had the kind of body that lead to an early loss of innocence and attracts the eyes of men. She knew how to show off her goods and could con with the skill of a serpent’s tongue. A feature which coiled Lester’s want-to-be pimp rap into her trap.

After a short conversation, she found Lester’s game needed work and he was far too much of a talker. He gave away too much and was more concerned with her sweater melons to see Rosie as a threat.

He saw himself as a wolf in sheep’s clothing but was really a chicken in her hen house. He walked her out past the neon glow of beer advertisements to the dark parking lot under the guise of a ride home. Sure, he wanted a ride but no where close to Rosie’s home.

As the story goes, he got fresher than a bushel of hand picked apples He bit off more than he could chew and Rosie skated home with a pocket full of money. Her skates in need of a good washing.

He came back with friends but Rosie showed up with the full dozen. Half of Lester’s crew had crushes on a few of the flowers or had a jaded romantic past from their sharp thorns and wanted no part of the fight. As the numbers of Lester’s crew dwindled before the first punch, only the true psychos and junkie low-lives were left.

Polyurethane wheels against flesh and bone is a better drug, the heroin to wood’s weed; an uncontrolled addiction with vicious outcomes. The Rosies skated back inside and left a pile for the police.

The end came with the bartender who slid a thick envelope across the bar to Rosie and Rhinestone Blvd became a safer place to live.

Jessie looked out over the remains of Rhinestone Blvd. Where had it all gone wrong? To hear the old timers tell it, the Rosies had created a golden city square; a neighborhood of Utopian design.

Today, Old timers blamed Rhinestone’s fall on the yuppie invasion, the rise of superstores, and other assorted tinfoil conspiracies, but the decline of the Riveters remains their over all agreed upon reason.

Jessica knew every version of every Riveter story. She could write a bible to their glory and held a iconic image of the Rosies to match the ideal of Jesus. She saw the Rosies as a force to reunite her neighborhood back into a society.

Generations gave way to institutions and institutions gave way to decay. The current Riveter roster, nick named “The Dirty Dozen”, was a bit rough around the edges. Collected from Rhinestone’s trash littered streets, they appeared to have the heart.

Jessica knew together they had a chance but she would have to gain their acceptance. She had put the rest of her life on hold and tried not to think about the college acceptance letter, stashed in her drawer, as she heard the sound of polyurethane wheels behind her.

Roller Revolt Map

Join us next time and “Meet The Girls”
Or check “Roller Revolt: Table of Contents“.