Vicky Banning by Allen McGill

with sporting equipment, including the one thing she was looking for—roller skates, the new kind with rubber-like wheels that made barely a sound, even on sidewalks. Silence was essential, as was speed.
    “May I help you, Madam?” she salesman asked. He was a short, muscular guy in his thirties, with thick shoulders and bushy eyebrows that straggled in every which direction.
    “Yes,” Vicky replied. “I’d like to see some roller skates.”
    “Certainly, ma’am. For a child or an adult?”
    “For me,” Vicky said with a grin.
    Only for a moment did the man look surprised, but he smiled pleasantly. “Roller skating has really become popular,” he said. “Everyone seems to be getting into it, for the exercise and the rush.”
    “I get plenty of exercise,” Vicky said with an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders. “I’m in it for the money.”
    The man had started to lead the way farther into the store, but stopped and turned back to her. “Money?”
    “That’s right,” Vicky said. “Money. I’ve just been hired to coach the Pennsylvania Flowers. You’ve heard of them, of course?”
    His mouth opened as if to speak, and then closed. But he nodded, uncertainly. “Oh, sure. Of course,” he muttered, eyeing her curiously. “What are you going to coach them in?”
    Vicky looked incredulous. “Why power checking, of course. What else would I coach the new state roller derby team in, tap dancing? Don’t you read Wheelies ? In your business, you certainly should.”
    The man became flustered, his eyebrows twitched as he looked away from her. “I must have missed the past few issues.”
    “Oh, then you probably don’t recognize me,” Vicky said. “My picture was on last month’s cover. I was the Roller Derby Queen in my younger days. Now, I get paid to outfit and coach the new teams, from helmets to wheel-locks, so I’m here to check out your inventory. You can handle large , expensive orders, can’t you?”
    “ Yes, yes, of cour …”
    “Good,” Vicky interrupted. “Then show me your finest pair of skates, size five. A pair that I can slip on and off quickly.”
    “I have some that should be perfect for you,” the man said with growing enthusiasm. “It’s a boot skate, but with Velcro closings, like ski boots rather than laces. Good support without the bother.”
    “And they must have those new wheels, rubber, or whatever they are,” Vicky said. “We’re starting a new trend, silent but deadly. The fans make enough noise to deafen a statue as it is.”
    The man thought for a moment, then said, “No problem. Please, take a seat.” He motioned her to a chair facing a wall of boxed sneakers. “I’ll get the skates.”
    Vicky slipped off her shoes as she waited for the man to return from the back room. She wondered if she’d even be able to stand up in skates. It had been years since she’d worn them, back in the fifties. She and Gerald had lived in New York back then and had taken a subway out to Queens , to a roller rink. They’d danced and swayed to organ music, lost in their own merry-go-round world.
    “Here you are, ma’am,” the man said, on returning with a large, white box. He removed the lid. “White okay?”
    “White’s fine,” Vicky said, “but for heaven’s sake, take off those awful red pom-poms. They’d make me look like Grandma Moses, the world’s oldest cheerleader.”
    The man chuckled and did as he was told, then knelt to slip the skates onto Vicky’s feet. “How do they feel?” he asked when they were in place.
    “Very snug,” Vicky answered appreciatively. Now, if I can stand up without breaking my fool neck , she thought, they’ll be just fine.
    The man helped her to her feet, and she stood, bracing herself on the man’s thick shoulder. Taking a step, she felt the heaviness pull at her feet. She tried another. Okay, so far , she thought, as she continued to walk on the smooth carpeting. She remembered the days when she could skate with ease in