It’s a soppy long read but 100% my own work and no AI. The plastic jelly jacket was inspired by the image of the woman in the crowd in Beth’s recent post which I tried to link here but it appears the YouTube account has been closed!
The story…
Once Sophie’s pride and joy, she now hung unloved at the back of the dim charity shop, squashed between an old musty sports jacket that was both the colour and smell of a camel, and a ghastly lime green polyester skirt. Her former owner treated her well, so despite being worn many times, and getting into some interesting situations, her seams were still in perfect order and she had not lost any of that shine from when she was first bought in 1984. She prided herself in being a rare purple plastic jelly jacket at a time when blue, green and pink were the most common colours. There was little to do in those long dreary days on the rail except reminisce about the past.
It was a warm day, not exactly cloudless, but pretty close, and all the raincoats and jelly jackets were bemoaning the prospect of another day unsold in the C&A shop. She was near the end of the rail, being a small size, with just one green jelly jacket in front of her. They loved to chat about who might eventually buy them and on a day with little prospect of rain there was not much else to do. But even then there was something comforting about being squashed up against other plastic raincoats and the silent chanting that occurred between them as one of their number was sold. She didn’t like to say anything to the other plastic outfits, but Helen knew she was slightly shinier and had a nicer feel to the touch, probably due to a different production method linked to her unusual colour. The last one to leave was Colin, the grey pac-a-mac who seemed very excited to be bought by a rather dashing middle aged gentleman.
For a PVC raincoat the touch of a human hand is every bit as thrilling as it is the other way around, but every mac dreams of a beautiful or handsome owner who will wear them with pride. So it was that she felt a zing as Sophie’s hand brushed through the rail of smooth, shiny rainwear and unexpected to be lifted off the rail for a try-on given it was definitely not a raincoat day. Sophie was older than expected as most jelly jackets sold to schoolgirls at the time but she was pretty with an infectious smile. Helen had never seen a wheelchair before, but then again the world view of a vinyl rain jacket was pretty limited. Sophie’s touch was gentle and Helen felt a zip of excitement as her hands slid down inside her sleeves and she was even zipped up to the chin. Sophie manoeuvred herself in front of the long mirror and touched Helen affectionately.
Out on the street Helen ramained firmly zipped up despite the warm sun. This was what rainwear lived for, being worn and cocooning the owner in such a lovely feeling of protection. Over the following weeks men would stop and chat and sometimes mention Helen and how practical she was. Sophie was accustomed to only two modes from people, those that totally ignored her and those that spoke but somehow the conversation always came round to her disability with an air of pity. What Sophie wanted was a bona fide boyfriend who loved her for her intelligence and sense of humour but none of the conversations with men went further and she felt so lonely at times.
Helen sensed when Sophie was having a bad time, especially if she would come home from work into the flat and she stayed on for the evening indoors. Sophie would sit on the sofa, wheelchair parked next to her ready for use, watching some old romantic film while eating sweet popcorn and Helen didn’t mind when some of her cola split down her front, she was nothing if not endlessly wipe-clean! Sophie took solace in the feeling and something about the smell of her vinyl made it feel like she was in a cinema and not home alone at the age of 27, being very grown up, yet feeling like her teenage years had passed by having done none of the things normal girls did, and it was a time when accessibility was yet to be taken in to account by the majority of places. That meant that the nightclub on Francis Street, where all the best looking boys hung out, was off limits to her, and sometimes she saw the queue waiting outside in the street. Girls in their best pulling outfits, boys wreaking of strong aftershave, and it seemed that always the girls in shiny PVC dresses, skirts, jeans, or ones that wore plastic mackintosh’s or short vinyl jackets, were the ones already hooked up.
Derek was a lovely old chap, being one of only a few drivers at the taxi company that was willing to go out of his way to help Sophie in and out of his cab. He was always careful to pack her wheelchair carefully and on some occasions would place Helen on top before closing the tailgate, and secretly enjoyed the smooth feel of her. It was a fateful hot summer day when Derek dropped Sophie at the airport and helped her into the wheelchair and even wheeled her big suitcase to the departure area for her, but in the rush Helen was left behind. Sophie arrived in New York only to realise Helen was not there and she was to be in the US a whole week at the international cardiologists conference in which she was a guest speaker; the youngest qualified heart specialist in England. She called the taxi company who assured her they would pass the message to Derek and her raincoat would be stored safely for her return to the UK. But Helen was gone. Derek apologised profusely but said he had not seen the purple PVC jacket in his car after he dropped off Sophie. Derek suspected that someone had helped themselves to Sophie’s plastic jacket while he left the back of his car open and wheeled her inside, but he didn’t like to admit that he left the boot open.
Helen found herself stuffed inside a musty hold-all, pressed up against a few handbags, wallets, some coats and a few loose mobile phones. She jolted as the bag was dropped unceremoniously on a bench inside a dim warehouse. She heard angry voices then suddenly she, and a few other items from the hold-all were flung into a pile by the side of the room, followed by old purses and handbags once any valuable contents had been removed.
“Wrap that lot in that purple plastic bag and chuck it in the skip”, said a gravelly voice, “I reckon this lot is probably only worth a few hundred, but we might strike it lucky if any of these phones are easy to unlock”.
Helen was grabbed and stuffed her in with the discarded items then she found herself outside in bright sunlight as the top of the dumpster was opened and she knew this was the end of the road. She missed Sophie so much but right now she’d settle for just not being thrown in the trash.
Sophie had returned to C&A after her trip looking for a replacement jelly jacket. They had only a yellow one in her size, which she felt was just not her colour, and in any case none were ever likely to be as good as her purple one. She left with nothing, but decided to try again in a few weeks. Derek, bless him, had bought her a nylon blouson jacket in navy blue as a way to try to replace her loss and apologise. The jacket was actually nice and had a rubbery lining and a pair of white stripes down each sleeve, and she did wear it but it was no plastic jelly jacket.
The dumpster looked filthy but just as Helen thought she was going in, the contents that she had wrapped fell, but she remained held. A stern looking girl looked at the plastic jacket, holding it up with a heavily tattooed arm. Her face was pale with black lipstick and a skull piercing through her nose. Her hair was jet black but with flashes of bright red flame in it and she wore heavy boots, fishnet stockings and a tartan skirt made of PVC. Helen found herself being put on, the girl slipped her hands into the soft vinyl sleeves and smiled as she realised the jelly jacket fitted. Back inside the warehouse the man chided the girl, “fuck me Chloe why are you wearing that plastic bag?”
Helen was relieved when her arm was raised in the air as Chloe gave him the middle finger and showed her annoyance by zipping up the jacket angrily and walking out.
When you are a rain jacket your needs are simple. To be owned. To be worn. That’s pretty much it. But Helen discovered there was more to her existence.
It was dark but Helen could hear many people cheering. Chloe was warm and Helen was enjoying encasing her, especially as she was only wearing a black lace bra and a even shorter and shinier black PVC mini skirt than the one from earlier, meaning there was a lot of vinyl on bare skin going on. Five men joined Chloe. They were dressed in black nylon tracksuits and sunglasses. Chloe gave a nod then the six people formed a line and stepped forward onto a wide platform with a huge red curtain in front of them. The crowd the other side of the drapes went wild as the curtain rose slowly. Once it was high enough the group stepped out in unison, with Chloe slightly ahead of the men.
The crowd went wild. Red and blue laser light danced frantically on the stage and Helen lit up like a beacon of plastic light as Chloe bowed her head, hood up, and brought the microphone to her lips.
She paused as the music grew slowly, then her left arm pierced the air with a fist as the first notes of the song left her lips. Helen felt like she was being lifted up in that moment and her elasticated cuff gripped the singer’s wrist held high. As the song entered the chorus Chloe lowered her arm and pointed into the crowd before turning and starting her energetic dance routine. The men in nylon joined in with the many shiny clothes sparkling in the frantic laser light.
By the second song Chloe was very damp and Helen’s smooth surface clung to her bare arms, stomach and back. The singer’s chest heaved at the exertion and the purple PVC jelly jacket feared she may be removed and cast aside, but as the notes of the song faded the event calmed down waiting for the start of Chloe’s signature ballad to start. The artist pushed Helen’s hood back, but rather than remove the jacket, she slowly zipped it up, then walked over and sat on a stool that had magically appeared while everyone’s focus was on the tattooed form of the star.
The crowd went wild as Chloe turned in the seat and lifted the 12-string guitar from its stand and plucked the first notes of the love song. Helen dutifully moved in the rhythm of the music as lighters flicked on and waved over the bed’s of the crowd.
Helen expected to be summarily discarded as Chloe clumped down on the tattered old leather sofa in the dressing room, but she was glad to be kept on, even though she knew her owner was very hot and sweaty. The male dancers entered the room in high spirits, also hot and damp, some unzipped their shiny nylon tops to reveal bare muscular bodies and Helen couldn’t quite make out if the shiny inside was just from perspiration or if, as she suspected, the tracksuits had a rubbery lining, in which case she wondered what heavenly situation existed within the men’s trousers.
Finally Chloe peeled Helen off carefully as the damp plastic clung to her skin and lay her gently over the back of the sofa. The room was not big and only her name was scrawled in red felt tip on the door, with a passable yellow star drawn underneath it, but the men remained in the room as they were joined by the man who had been in the warehouse earlier, the room went quiet. A curvy girl followed him in to the room. He wore a very expensive business suit and you might be forgiven for thinking he was off to the office other than the huge number of big rings on every finger and a set of chunky gold bangles on his wrist. The girl wore a white tee shirt with a logo showing Chloe’s name and extremely right back PVC leggings which squeaked mercilessly as her thighs rubbed when she walked. The girl felt totally out of place and preferred to be wearing one of her floral print dresses, but Sam, one of the dancers, already fancied her when she was helping out wearing her normal Laura Ashley inspired frumpy numbers, but seeing and hearing the shiny PVC struggling to contain her delicious curves gave him an instant hard on and had to cover his modesty with a cushion.
Nobody was allowed to use The Bear’s real name and Helen recognised him from the warehouse because of his gravely voice. Everyone feared him, but John would cheerfully murder the bloke over the way he treated Chloe and always had a soft spot for the singer despite being gay. The Bear emptied his pockets of a couple of wallets he’d lifted from unsuspecting audience members, deal with those he demanded of the girl. Sam struggled with his emotions as Katie squeaked her way over to the table and stood with her shiny PVC bottom right at Sam’s eye level as she sorted through the stolen goods.
“Not bad but you gotta lose that fucking plastic bag, you looked like a street whore, and I told you to include “Get Right” in the lineup but you fuckin’ ignored me again”, he stepped over and grabbed Chloe by the hair and forced her head back, pulled his face close to hers and said, “do what I fuckin’ tell you or you will end up like your sister”. There was an imperceivable movement as muscles tensed for attack from every man in the room who all wanted to rush to Chloe’s aid but none dare make a move.
The Bear turned to leave, but grabbed Helen and threw her into Katie’s face, “dispose of THAT and for Christ sake do something about your fuckin’ diet, you looked like a pork sausage about to burst its skin in those”, gesturing to her shiny PVC covered legs. She was angry because he was the one that forced her into wearing them when he disapproved of her pretty M&S dress, and it had taken several minutes to squeeze into the bloody things, although when she looked in the mirror she got a tingling feeling from the sexy look it gave her.
Sam had had enough, he was powerless to stop himself launching from the sofa and planting a strong blow on the side of The Bear’s head with a beer bottle that he scooped from the table as he got up.
Katie stepped back clutching Helen to her chest for protection.
The Bear seemed dazed momentarily but then anger crossed his face and his right fist launched at Sam who managed to duck so as only to be scratched by the biggest of the fake rings.
Jon shot a glance at Chloe whose eyes were streaming with tears but still showed anger, he could not stop himself and launched his right foot up between The Bear’s legs as hard as he could. Contrary to his expectation of the man writhing in pain, he found his foot held tightly by a strong hand that twisted it as the big man growled, “fuckin’ Nancy boy wants some of this”.
Katie had backed against the dressing room wall and thought she was merely using the soft plastic folds of the jelly jacket as a barrier to the violence unfolding, but she found herself planting her face in the damp vinyl material and drawing in the delicious smell of Chloe mixed with childhood memories of plastic inflatable pool toys that gave her a weird comforting feel.
Jack was the quiet one in the dance group, so when he launched a kick at the back of The Bear’s right knee, he surprised everyone including himself. The big man went down as his leg folded. Katie drew the plastic jelly jacket up close to her face and drew in the delicious smell as she watched testosterone fuelled attacks unfolding, and found herself becoming excited at the image of the men exacting their revenge on the bullying manger, especially as she herself had been the victim of his cruel treatment at times. Now there was kicking and punching as the five men struggled to keep The Bear from getting up on his feet and exacting his revenge. But it was a losing battle as this man had street experience, shielding his face and managed to stand. The dancers backed off, almost as if they knew that their best efforts were having little impact on The Bear and retreat was probably their only hope. Nobody saw it coming. The sound was heavy but dull as the golden award statue connected with the back of The Bear’s neck. There was something sickening about the sound and the brief look of anger in his eyes as they went blank and he fell forward, smashing into the table and sending wood and glass flying in all directions,
Everyone stood motionless. Chloe had the heavy golden murder weapon in her right hand held above her head. A small patch of blood on it was not the cause of death, that she suspected was the severing of his spine right where it connected with the back of his skull. A million years went by an everyone tried to process what the fuck had just happened, but in reality it was just a few seconds before there was a knock at the door and a voice shouted out, “ON STAGE IN FIVE”, then thankfully departed.
“What the fuck just happened? Is he er…. dead? Should someone check?”, Jon offered.
Jack was nearest and peered closely at the motionless body and nervously checked for a pulse, although he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, “nothing, he’s gone”, he said.
Emotions were in tatters from relief to horror and panic over how they would survive in prison. Katie was the only one who suddenly attained a level head, but maybe as the only one who had no actual part in the attack, she was the only one with an excuse to be cool, “we need to think and quick, maybe you need to go back out there so that no one suspects”.
“We can’t just leave him here and go back on stage”, Jack answered.
“We need to hide the body”, Jon added.
“Can we get him in that cupboard?”, Ronin replied as his first contribution other than a few ineffectual kicks to the big man’s ribs.
The men grabbed the literal dead weight and dragged it into the cupboard, which was much harder than they expected.
“FINAL CALL”, came the announcement accompanied by a loud knock at the door.
“You lot go, I’ll tidy up here and see if I can come up with a plan”, Katie said.
The second part of the performance had none of the magic of earlier as everyone went through the motions whist in a state of panic and concern about just how to get out of the situation.
As the troup had left the changing room Chloe left without Helen. Katie was left standing looking at the mess, but after a few seconds she lept into action. First she slid her hands into Helen’s soft and still slippery sleeves, pulled the plastic jacket on and zipped it up. Helen was a bit tight which, for some reason, Katie liked the feel of. Next she raided the bathroom for cleaning products and set about wiping and cleaning as best she could. She looked at the smashed table and decided to leave it with a note for the venue, “sorry Sam tripped and broke the table please deduct from our fees”.
She felt warm and revelled in the dampness which was a mixture of Chloe and her own perspiration.
At that moment she resigned to buy her own plastic jelly jacket if they made it out of the current mess.
Helen, it would appear, was to become famous. The next day’s local paper would have the headline, “RISING STAR KNOCKS EM’ DEAD” with a picture of Chloe in full song with a really good view of Helen, and in the article it contained the line, “Chloe Stevens wows fans who loved her full PVC look”, which probably said a lot about what the reporter was watching rather than the true feeling of the crowd. Thankfully the headline was not related to the fate of The Bear. Shops in the area saw a big increase in sales of plastic jelly jackets and PVC skirts.
Katie exited the dressing room and went scouting the backstage corridors of the venue to see how they might smuggle out such a big dead body. Transport would be no problem if only they could get the corpse out to Jack’s VW bus. She spotted the sound room door and carefully opened it and peered inside. There, over in the corner, was a large table on wheels, covered in old equipment and wires. Her plan was to unload the trolley and wheel it back to the dressing room, taking some cables and a place vinyl dust sheet that covered a big amplifier, then they could cover the body and wheel it out, and if challenged say they were loading their equipment after the gig and the wires would look the part. She was about half way unloading when a voice came from behind her.
“Can I help you miss?”
Katie froze, unsure of her excuse. She turned slowly to see a handsome but nervous looking young man facing her, “I, er… was looking for, er…”.
He lunged forward and she stepped back, pressing her PVC covered butt against the trolley and feared that he was going to attack her, but instead he raised his arm, “is this what you were looking for? It’s always a microphone cable, everyone needs a spare at some point”.
“Er… yes… that’s it”, Katie replied, relieved at the get out.
“Do you need me to plug it in?”
Katie asked to have a few moments alone to redress and tidy herself. Seb was the gentleman and handed her the shiny PVC leggings which had to come off. He was very pleased that she kept the purple vinyl jacket on throughout the proceedings remembering an ex who had a similar blue one a couple of years back that always had him keen to see her in it. He left her in the room alone and soon she was wheeling the empty trolley back towards the dressing room, thankful that she could steady herself on its handle as her legs were decidedly weak. This was, of course, not the sort of thing she would ever do normally but when you have to cover up a murder… plus of course she thoroughly enjoyed it and vowed to come back and find the sound technician if she managed to evade prison for covering up a murder. It occurred to her that she could just run now, while the lack lustre performance was in full swing, but Chloe was a good friend and she felt she was in far too deep.
The group piled back in to the dressing room and quickly shut the door. Katie explained the plan and opened the cupboard door so that they could man-handle the corpse onto the trolley.
But the cupboard was empty. This was worse than had The Bear been dead. Chloe spotted a bloody handprint on the cupboard door frame then looked around and saw another one on the dressing room door.
“He must have stumbled out while you were fetching the trolley. He had to be quick because you can’t have been out of the room for long”, said Jack.
Katie looked a bit sheepish, “it took me a while to unload the trolley”, she did not admit to the part about Seb.
Chloe grabbed the cloth that Katie had been using to clean with and wiped away the blood stains, “we’d better check the corridor for more blood and gather our things to leave. Wherever he is he is going to be very pissed at us”.
The room was left in as good as shape as they could manage, but most importantly with no evidence that a murder had, or rather hadn’t, taken place.
Chloe looked at Katie, “can I have my jacket back please?”
Katie reluctantly slid her arms out of the plastic and handed it back to her friend who unceremoniously stuffed it in her hold-all as they left the room.
The blood trail faded with each hand print until they vanished completely at the rear door of the theatre.
Outside was cold, raining, dark and windy. None of the men had suitable rainwear so Jack suggested they use the nylon jackets from the performance. The rubbery lining felt good on his damp, bare skin, as he slid the jacket on and zipped it up. The others followed suit.
Katie had no protection at all and was rapidly getting soaked through in her white tee-shirt, only her PVC leggings kept her dry from the waist down. Chloe had her black PVC mini skirt on with her signature fish net stockings which did nothing to prevent the wet, and of course only the bra on top. She delved into her bag for Helen, but as she pulled the shiny plastic jacket out, a gust of wind ripped it from her hand and sent it skywards, landing in the back of a pickup truck that was splashing past in the road.
“Shit”, she said, “I loved that jacket, fucking wind”.
Katie ran down the road after the truck as it slowed at traffic lights. Her tight PVC leggings squeaked all the while but nobody but her could hear over the wind. She drew close to her target when the lights changed and it set off towards the bridge over the river. As it started over the water a strong wind blew and Helen was whipped up out of the back and fluttered over the side and down towards the black water. Katie felt so disappointed but something caught her eye, a figure, ahead, stumbling over the bridge down the middle of the road away from her. The truck sounded its horn to warn the man who turned towards Katie. He was quite a way off but the headlights sparkled in her shiny PVC leggings and the white drenched tee-shirt stood out against the dark night. He began to stumble towards her, passing the truck by just a few centimetres, then seemed to pick up speed. She could see his face now and the look was not good.
As a raincoat Helen knew about the cold and wet, but jelly jackets were really fashion items because of being too short to be totally effective against a downpour. But this was a different kind of cold and wet, this was lonely, like she was drifting to the end of her useful life, maybe to be shredded in the propellor of a passing boat. She would never know about her fleeting fame because of the newspaper article going to press early the following morning.
Chloe’s article was on the front page, but not the headline. The image chosen by the editor showed off her PVC mini skirt and Helen to full effect, but the other image was macabre, showing the big lorry and white tent erected on the bridge where police had hidden the body. Their working theory was that he was too drunk to realise what he was doing, and was hidden by the hump of the bridge, dark suit and storm conditions. This time The Bear was definitely not getting back up.
Chloe and the boys were terrified that the authorities would come knocking, but there was nothing. Chloe tried everything she could to get a replacement purple plastic jelly jacket but the colour was rare, and in the end she settled for a dark blue which was just about transparent enough. Her fans came to expect her to be wearing her signature outfit of PVC mini skirt, fishnet stockings, big black leather DMs, a black lacy bra and of course vinyl jacket. The number of sightings of girls in plastic jackets went up significantly around the town, one of whom was Katie of course. Jack had the idea of replacing their nylon tracksuit costumes with shiny PVC which went down well with the screaming girls in the audience. All was well now Katie had taken over managing the group and came to enjoy wearing tight shiny black PVC leggings, which, along with Kim, her own green vinyl jelly jacket seemed to keep Seb following her like a puppy! A puppy that she adored.
It was a bright, warm morning as the hand carefully untangled the purple PVC rain jacket from the twig on which it was caught. A kindly gentleman took her home, dried and cleaned her, then put her in a bag of old clothes bound for the charity shop near the high street. But events changed and the bag was stored in the loft for many years until the children had the awful job of clearing their father’s old house before sale. The bag did make it’s way to a charity shop, but now plastic jelly jackets, like most of the items in that bag, were no longer in fashion and Helen was doomed to hang out the rest of her days next to the musty old items right at the back of the shop where hardly anyone ever went. Except one day a hand brushed over Helen’s smooth plastic sleeve and the items next to her on the rail were parted to let in some light. The woman was probably in her forties, but the voice was unmistakable, “gosh, I used to have a jacket just like this one when I was younger”,
Sophie smiled, “how fashion changes”. For a brief moment Helen thought she was being bought, but the woman closed the garments back around the rain jacket and wheeled herself away. Helen thought she always seemed so sad and only really happy when wearing her favourite plastic jacket to try to win a boy.
Suddenly the garments parted once more, but it wasn’t Sophie’s face, but that of a somewhat handsome man. He picked out Helen of the rail and held her up to the light.
“Put it back”, called Sophie, “I’m not that girl anymore, anyway nobody wears plastic raincoats anymore”.
“You are that girl to me”, her husband replied, “and you will brighten up the town wearing this and sod whatever people think”, as he placed his credit card firmly on the counter and handed Helen over to the assistant.
THE END
Another Perspective (not explicit)
Re: Another Perspective (not explicit)
Any comments gratefully received, even if it’s not your cup of tea, helps to work out what people do and don’t want to read in future. Silence doesn’t help me to know if you liked or hated it, of if you got two sentences in and thought you’d rather be watching paint dry.
Cherie x
Cherie x