Purple Blues [Elvis]

Chapter 17 - A Little Lover's Tiff

I hated lying, but I had to do it for the radio show. What else was I supposed to say when I was asked if Elvis was still around in my time? I hinted that he was still around. Only two people knew that I lied, and that was Sharon and Elvis himself. Did he listen to the radio show?

I blew air out of my mouth in a long sigh. I sat at the kitchenette table to my new and official dressing room in William Morris, two days after the radio show. The room was basically a studio apartment with a kitchenette, a twin bed in the corner, a stand-up closet, and a small bathroom with a shower. It was about the size of Sharon's living room, and... it was just down the hall from Elvis's room. That tickled my nerves a bit. We didn't live in these, though, they were just our space while we were in the building and could be a temporary stay if we were ever doing overnight events in the building since those happeed sometimes. The place kind of felt like a dorm room.

"Well, they want her to sing," said Nancy as she and Sharon stood in the kitchen sipping coffee and I was sitting at the table. It was nine in the morning. "We have to find a song and have her sing it for them."

"Elvis loved the song that she sang the day of the photoshoot," Sharon mentioned.

"I can't sing that one," I budded in and both women looked over at me, both with matching purple mugs in their hands. Naturally everything in this space was purple - the tablecloth, the dishes, the sheets and blankets on the bed, the curtains over the one window, even the flowers in a purple vase on the table. I didn't mind it at all.

"He said you can sing it, though," Sharon argued. "It's his song."

"Yeah, a song that he sings five years from now and hasn't been written yet. People will put it under my name, not his. It's one of his most popular songs, in his time and mine, and people have remade the snot out of it. So, no. Please, let's choose another one."

"But Elvis already talked to Rose Records here in New York and they agreed to have a listen to you," Nancy said and I shot up out of my seat.

"Wait, Elvis did what? I told him not to do it," I whined.

"Well, he loves your voice, little missy," said Nancy. "But don't get mad at him yet. He made it clear that you can pick the song." I grimaced. "What's with the face? You knew you would have to sing as part of your contract."

I sat back down. "I know, I know, I just wish I didn't have to do it so soon."

"Well, after you said on the radio show that you like singing, the public wants to hear your voice. So, what song will you be singing? It can be a cover of a song that actually exists."

"Um..." I thought and thought. I didn't know of any other 50s songs other than Elvis's, and I didn't know of any songs before then, like in the 20s, 30s, and 40s. "You pick. I have no idea of..."

We all jumped from sudden and rapid knocking on the door. Nancy went to go answer it, and once she opened it, I shot up again from my seat, but from seeing a very unhappy and pink-faced Colonel Parker.

Oh crap. What happened?

Elvis appeared behind him, wearing only black slacks and a light-blue dress shirt unbuttoned three times, and I let out a gasp. "I'm so sorry for this, ladies," he said, then the Colonel put hand in front of Elvis's face, silently telling him to stop speaking.

"May I ask what is going on here Colonel Parker and Mr. Presley?" asked Nancy curtly, standing tall.

The Colonel pointed a finger at me. "That girl has gone far enough. I've gone along with this 'being from the future' nonsense, but now, enough is enough!"

Fire blazed in his eyes, and I looked at Elvis, his features full of guilt. He looked at me, an apology in his blue eyes.

It hit me. I knew what was going on... Elvis told him everything.