Dream Angel : Heaven Waits (12 page)

“So, this is a letter from, Melissa?” Elvis moved closer, reading her name from the display.

I nodded and let out a defeated groan.

“Melissa is… a fan of mine?”

“You know, this can wait,” I reached for the mouse, but was stopped short by Elvis’ hand.

“Why don’t you want me to see her letter?”

“I… I didn’t say that.” My cheeks burned.

“Show me the letter,” Elvis patted my hand.

“But…”

“Samantha.” Elvis’ voice grew stern.

Melissa and I had been friends for years. We shared one thing in common, a love for Elvis Presley. And though Melissa had a quirky personality, one that grew on a person over time, I knew full well the attachment would not be meant for mixed company. He was in for a shock, but there was no avoiding it, not with him pressing me just over my shoulder, so, I clicked the file. It only took a second for the surprise to pop up.

“I’ll be as son of a…” Elvis stood up, jarred from his spot as if zapped from behind.

The file opened to a photo of Elvis, shown dancing to a number called, “The Walls Have Ears” from his movie, “Girls, Girls, Girls.” The song was by far the least interesting association the photo carried. The shot captured Elvis, completely by chance, in a state of arousal.

“Nobody will see it, Boss, they said.” He smiled with sarcasm and walked away.

“It’s uh… hard for a girl to miss.”

He turned. “Are you saying women are passing this around?”

“I—”

“What does N.B.N. stand for? Wait, I’m not sure I want to know.” He raised both hands.

“Naughty but nice,” I blurted out and Elvis paused, his hand still held in the air.

Our eyes met and his lips twitched with a smile. I dared not move. And it was Elvis who cracked first as his outright laughter engulfed the room.

“Naughty, but…,” He struggled.

“Nice.” I finished for him.

He collected himself long enough to steal a glance at me, and then doubled over once again.

“So, let me get this straight. ‘Little Elvis’ here has been shared with women all over the world?” He said, wiping a tear from his eye.

Little Elvis?
I’m not touching that one!

“Yes, I suppose you could say that.” I was chuckling myself now.

“And to think, all those years, I was doing it the hard way!” He slapped his leg and went into a new round of guffaws.

Just as I was thinking this little distraction could not have come at a better time the phone rang at my desk. I looked twice in surprise at the caller ID. As though given a cosmic cue, it was my friend, Melissa. We both reached for the phone, but Elvis beat me to the call. His eyes glimmered triumphantly as he brought the receiver to his ear. I gestured wildly, begging for him to give me the phone.

“Hello, you’ve reached naughty but nice headquarters, this is Elvis, please leave a message after the tone,” Elvis said before sounding a shrill beep and dropping the phone into my hands.

A muffled voice called questioningly from my palms as I brought the phone to my ear. Elvis sat back down on the corner of my desk to watch.

“Hello?” Melissa said.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Sam? Where did you get that message, it sounded just like him! I can’t believe you found one that actually said naughty but nice.” Melissa rambled excitedly

“I… uh… had an impersonator friend record it for me a while back,” I shrugged, and Elvis grinned like an alley cat that had finally found some cream.

“You’re a clever girl! Hey, I’m calling you to see if you’re going to the tribute concert tonight in Atlanta.”

I hadn’t heard about any Elvis-related concerts in my home town. I glanced at Elvis, who simply raised an eyebrow.

“No, I wasn’t planning on it,” I said.

Elvis shook his head otherwise.

“Oh? I was hoping you’d pick me up a t-shirt. I really like this guy.”

“I-I had no idea anyone was in town.”

Elvis sighed and rested his chin pensively on his right palm.

“Listen, Melissa, I have company, can I call you back another time?”

“Oh, did you get the photo I emailed you?” Melissa suddenly asked.

Elvis grimaced and reached for the phone.

“I really have to go!” I practically shouted as I spun my chair away from his grasp.

I hung up the phone, not waiting for her goodbye. I would find a way to explain later, I thought, as I turned back around to find Elvis glaring at me, his eyes narrowing into tiny slits.

He'd hopped off of the desk and was now leaned back against it. And that easy posture of his would have looked relaxed on anyone else, but his legs, stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, telegraphed irritation with constant jiggling.

“You mentioned a concert?”

An hour later, and in a turn of last-word-irony I was dressing for the evening show. To say Elvis is persuasive is like saying the ocean is wide, but there was more to this evening than just my accommodating nature. I had been trying to convince myself all evening that “anyone” could have left that note on my door, but my continence wouldn’t rest. All I could see was Steve’ pleading eyes at the café, and Elvis reminding me that God’s children were historically bad when making decisions alone. The consequences for my sins felt long overdue.

Sitting at my grandmother’s antique vanity, I was dabbing perfume to my wrist when the phone rang. I almost dropped the bottle in my rush to pick it up. The word “daddy” flashed on the screen.

“Daddy!”

“You were supposed to call.”

“When I got home, yes sir,” I squeezed my eyes tight. “I’m sorry.”

The line went silent. I turned the receiver around to see if we were still connected, and we were so I waited.

“You arrived safely then.” He said curtly.

“Y-yes, sir.” It wasn’t so much a question, but I answered anyway.

“All right then, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He said and then promptly hung up.

Still holding the phone to my ear, I just sat there, listening to the dial tone. I felt as disconnected as the line. My father deserved better. He had suffered through so much heartache. The last thing he needed was me twisting the olive-branch of his life. He needed peace. But, I was human too, and a lot had happened on those three hundred miles home. I needed to talk to someone.

I called the one person I knew I could count on. She picked up on the first ring.

“I’m glad you called.” Heather said, skipping the more mundane “hello”.

Just the sound of her voice did wonders. “I’m home, and I’m fine.” I beat her to the punch.

“Are you sure? You sound… funny.”

I heaved a sigh, stood up, and went to my closet.

“To be honest, things are… strange here.” I considered a navy blue dress then disregarded it.

“W-what do you mean strange?”

My heart strings tugged over the worry I heard in her voice. She was like a big sister to me. The urge to tell her about the last twenty four hours surged but I held back. The battle of good and evil didn’t serve well over the phone.

“You know, it’s been odd.” I picked out a pair of black ankle strapped heals and tossing them to the bed.

“Odd, covers a lot of ground, Samantha!”

“Please, don’t shout. Daddy’s already mad at me, and I don’t think I could handle it if you were too. I’m ok. I’m home, and Elvis is here, but I do need to talk to you. Can you come over tomorrow morning, it’s sort of,” I was extra careful, “important.”

I could hear her breathing.

“Are you there?”

Heather had been in the trenches of life with me for so long, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she hung up. But she didn’t.

“You’re right, we should talk.”

That was easy
. “O-ok… good, tomorrow it is then,”

“See you in the morning, sleep tight,” she said, and with that she too hung up in my ear.

The dial tone shrieked, and a silly smirk came over me. Heather’s atrocious phone etiquette was back. Surprisingly, I had missed it. I longed for the good ole days, my old life.

***

I adjusted the cuffs of my long sleeved dress, and considered myself in the mirror. My chestnut hair fell soft in lengthy ringlets around my face. I was dressed all in black, a simple but classic look. And though worn off the shoulders, and exposing just the right amount of skin, my intentions were in fact more of an innocent nature. I wished to tantalize not tempt, I told myself as I leaned in for a closer look. I wondered if my eyeliner was just a bit too heavy, and then just as quickly disregarded the notion. I felt sexy.

The heels of my shoes clicked against the wood floor as I walked down the hall, eager to join the night. It’s funny how a pair of shoes can boast a girl’s confidence. Tonight, I felt poised enough to look my angel right in the eye and speak my heart. My confidence was evident in the way I walked, chest out and shoulders back. And I imagined an invisible trail of perfume lingering behind me as I entered the living room with butterflies in my stomach, and looking for my prince charming.

When Elvis was nowhere to be found, I dropped my hand bag to the brown suede couch with a sigh, and took out my necklace for the evening. I was so busy fumbling with the clasp; I never heard him enter the room.

“Let me help with that.” When he spoke, that unmistakable Mississippi drawl roused a quiver across my shoulders. I glanced up and froze.

Across the room, dressed in a pair of sharply creased black slacks and a pale blue shirt, was a man of worldly sophistication. As he sauntered my way, I was mesmerize by the sight of the Presley strut reduced to a slower swagger. Was this Elvis Presley at the age of 70 or75? I couldn’t decide, but I dare not blink for fear I’d miss something new. Like the neatly trimmed, stark white mustache and goatee he now sported, for one. Or the way his blue eyes shined, a beautiful backdrop to his tanned skin and faded hair. He was the image of his aged father, but with the fuller soft features of his mother.

With steady hands, he took the jewelry from my grasp, and in looking down at me, that familiar grin slipped across his face. “What’s the matter youngin, cat got your tongue?” He laughed, and I admired the lines of aged wisdom that deepened around his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” I whimpered through my tears and eased into his arms, relishing the feel of his strong embrace encircling me.

“Careful now, this ole body hurts.”

“You do? Where?” I instantly felt the need to mother him.

“Everywhere.”

“Can I help?” I rubbed the sides of his arms, surprised at how stout he was even at this stage in life.

“Nah, it’s just a few too many, ‘Polk Salad Annie’s’, I’m afraid.” He chuckled and then I laughed with him, hugging him once more.

He was so beautiful; I would have happily sacrificed years from my own life to have seen him experience this stage of his.

“Let me get a look at you, darlin’.” Elvis said while reaching out to take my hand.

Stepping back, he lifted my palm in to the air, and in turning his head slightly that little boy grin of his shined. He admired my face, then my hair, and I blushed as his eyes sparkled with approval. I felt special. I didn’t have to look in the mirror to know my cheeks were once again a multiple shade of red. And when he reached out with his free hand and wound a bent finger inside my curls, I laughed nervously like a teenager on her first "real" date

“Look at you, so beautiful. And, I’m in no position to do a damn thing about it.” His easy smile was just for me, and even at this advanced age, he was still capable of stirring a desire deep within me.

“The tiger is tamed?”

“Tired, is more like it.” His wide smile deepened those adorable dimples, and I was unable to resist the need to touch him. I placed a light touch against his cheek, and he promptly took my hand and brought it to his lips for a tender kiss instead.

“Turn around, let’s put this on.” He winked.

I had been so involved with his transformation; I had long forgotten that he had taken my necklace. I turned around, lifted my hair, and felt him slide the chain around my neck. The metal was cool against my fiery skin. And after he'd clasped it, with surprising accuracy, he rested his open palms to my bare shoulders, and then leaned down to gently brush his lips across my skin in a light airy kiss. A vision of a much younger Elvis raced through my mind.

“You’re too old for me, you know?” I teased, enjoying the sound of him chuckling in my ear.

***

The drive to the Cobb Galleria Centre was short, but still the traffic crawled. A light mist fell, and the city lights sparkled in distorted watermarks across my windshield. There was an excitement in the evening air, a charge. It was the kind of thrill one can only find in a city the size of Atlanta.

The night was alive, and I was dressed for it. I wanted nothing more than to grab my handsome escort, and show him all my favorite spots across town. And yet here we were, stuck in traffic with only the slap-slap sound of the windshield wipers for company. Talk about a downer, I thought while also steeling a look at myself in the rearview mirror.
Great
, I frowned. My curls were already drooping.

As we sat, at a complete standstill, a stream of vehicles filed past us. It seemed as if the whole town had showed up, and I counted three cars before someone finally let us in. If people only knew who was sitting in this car, I mused, the effort to park would be a lot less painful.

I circled once, twice, and then found a spot.

At first neither of us moved to exit. And as I watched Elvis’ face flood with astonishment, I had to admit, even I was shocked. There were fans everywhere! Some were dressed for an evening out, while others displayed their loyalty on a tee-shirt, but all unknowingly passed their idol in the car as they headed for the show.

“Are you sure, you want to do this?” I asked, but only silence followed as he was too busy watching two women screaming and running to each other, arm’s out and in full stride, to respond to any questions.

Both of our eyes widened as the ladies collided and hugged as if they hadn't seen each other in years. Smiling to himself, he let out a deep chuckle and just shook his head, nibbling absorbedly on those legendary lips of his. I thought possibly he hadn't heard me, and I was just about to repeat the question when he suddenly spoke two simple words, “I’m sure,” and then turned back to watch the nights excitement.

Examining his profile now, I willed myself to see anything but Elvis Presley and failed miserably. “You’re sure nobody can see you?

“They see what they—”

“Want to see… I know, you told me.” I sighed loudly, and his attention snapped my way.

“Let’s just enjoy the evening, Samantha.”

“Ok, however, you still look like,” I started, but stopped when his eyes squinted at me. I held up my hands, “I’m just saying.”

He drew in a deep breath, and calmly reached into the breast pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a pair of thick black glasses, usually reserved for glaucoma patients, and I watched as he slipped them on.

When he turned back my way, his expression remained blank. "Better?” He asked rather dryly, and then flashed me a forced smile.

The glasses engulfed his face, hiding his famous baby blues, but his features were still hard to miss.

“I vote we leave.” I said flatly.

I knew every romantic spot in the city. This wasn’t one of them. What I wanted was privacy, alone time, with the most charismatic man in musical history. I wanted to find a cozy restaurant and cuddle up in a corner under candle light. I didn’t care if he was old enough to be my grandfather — I stole a look — literally! And when I turned, bent on suggesting it, the passenger side door opened, which I took to mean any proposal of a change would be vetoed. Disappointment flooded my heart.

Even as a much older man, Elvis remained a solid figure, but still moved in a slow and calculating way that matched his new age. I could not help but stare as he picked up each leg with his hand and encouraged it out of the car. I jumped out and raced to help him, but he waved me away with a scowl. Normally he’d tower over me by at least four inches, but on this night I had on my big girl shoes, which allowed for a few more inches. And though I tried to help by slipping my right hand around his left forearm, he promptly swapped our hands. Always a man’s man, only he would escort me not the other way around. I should have known.

We stepped in behind the crowd, and Elvis’ gait, though slowed to quarter-speed, still held that hypnotic strut. I was aware of how distinctive this walk of his was, perhaps to the degree of imagining double-takes from others around us. I paced us slower, allowing for more space between Elvis and his devotees.

“You need to change your walk,” I whispered.

“What?” He said a bit too loudly.

I stopped and waited for the crowd to move further along.

“I know you don’t realize this, but your style of walking is like the drug of choice to us fans. That impersonator inside has probably spent years trying to copy it perfectly!”

Elvis looked down to the ground with a smile.

“Can you change how you walk?”

“I-I don’t know any other way to walk, honey.”

“Think, Sammy Davis, Jr., John Wayne, or anyone else for that matter. You’re an actor, improvise.”

“Ok, I’ll think of something.” He gave my arm a reassuring pat.

We started once again and this time, his body leaned heavily against mine. The sheer weight of him caught me by surprise, and I heard myself grunt like a man. I fully expected a teasing comment to follow, but thankfully none came.

With his arms draped around me, his shoulders slouched, and he walked with a limp in his right leg. A war wound, maybe? I had no idea, but he played the age card perfectly. Had I not known better, I would have rushed to get him a wheelchair.

***

The red brick galleria of Atlanta hosted an array of events. It was a multipurpose venue, used not just for the benefit of entertainment but also conventions. A modern building, it was rectangle in shape, and looked out of place when in comparison to the more mature establishments that flanked it. Course, the oddly shaped glass pyramid set on top didn’t help. The building looked as if it wore an oversized birthday hat, and I couldn’t help but snicker whenever I saw it.

The walk to the entrance was a bit of a distance, but eventually we caught up with the crowd. A woman threw us a look, one that suggested she found it odd that such a tiny woman could really second as a leaning post for a six foot tall chunk of man, no matter the age. I realized we must look ridiculous, and even in stout heals, I was miscast in my part.

Once inside, people were elbow to elbow. I was overcome by the pungent smell of floor cleaner and tangled cologne from the crowd. The chattering was so loud I could barely hear myself think. And how they managed to carry on a conversation I’ll never know. But when a small group of people split off to admire the extravagant décor, the space they left behind helped to ease my sudden case of claustrophobia. My ability to breathe improved, but I still wanted to flee. And I was looking around for the nearest exit when Elvis patted my arm, and reluctantly, I pushed forward.