An Impetuous Tale [Elvis]

Chapter 12 - Calling in Sick

"Yes. We started filming it in June of last year, so I guess I haven't known Elvis for exactly a year. About nine months. But still... you get to know a lot about a person after working with them day after day for a couple of months."

"I know enough about him, and I've only known him for a couple of weeks. Well, maybe not enough since I don't have much for my article so far. Yeesh, I don't even know how I'm going to bring this all back to my time."

"Well, your futuristic gadgets didn't make it here since we don't have those things. I bet some pieces of paper would make it to your time without difficulty since there are papers there, aren't there? Everyone doesn't all write on those laptop whatchya-ma-call-its, right?"

We had conversations about future "gadgets" as she called them. She had a fair point regarding the paper. "Yeah, you're right, but... maybe just the stuff that Elvis wrote himself won't be there. He's not around in 2022." It hurt my heart to even think of it.

"Just do your best, okay? And maybe schedule a time where you can talk with him. You two haven't spoken since that kiss scene. How are suppose to get this article done if you don't speak to the subject?"

"I originally had to do it that way," I argued, hopeful for an excuse not to talk to Elvis again.

"But he's there. Just be professional, and if he's Elvis and brings up that kiss again, just move passed it."

"I have no other choice, apparently." I recalled those kisses on the set for the millionth time and how they made me want to melt into goo. "Yeesh..."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'll just do what I can. And... maybe you're right. I'll talk with him tomorrow on the set."

"Sounds like a plan."

The phone rang, and she went to go answer it as I looked over my notes. Starting in his early childhood would be best. I smirked as I recalled when he told me about some aspects of his childhood... that hospital room, and I just accused him of stealing from me.

"Oh, alright," Mary Ann said into the phone. "Goodness, is he okay?" A pause. "Oh, I see. I hope he feels better. Okay, I'll tell her. Goodbye." She hung up and came over to me. "So... it seems like Elvis is sick with the flu and won't be on the set tomorrow, so everyone has a break from filming for the day. Can't make an Elvis Presley film without Elvis."

My brows creased, and I turned and looked at her as she sat on the sofa. "Wait, Elvis is sick?"

She nodded. "Food poisoning, apparently. Seems like you won't be able to talk with him tomorrow."

I turned back around. "Fine by me. I'll just work with what I have so far."

"You'll have to talk with him in person again at some point," she reminded me, and I frowned. "Can't finish that article without him. Plus, you know you want to see him again. You know what I think? I think that you want to avoid him because you'll be tempted to kiss him. Am I right?"

I remained facing away from her as heat filled my whole face. "I have to get working on this."

"You basically just answered in the affirmative."

"Mary Ann..." I moaned in protest.

"Okay, okay, I won't bug you anymore about it, but you have the opportunity not a lot of women have—being romantically involved with a superstar... who happens to be the man you're in love with. Those two hardly happen to anyone when put together."

I said nothing to that as she left the room and started on a late dinner. I started writing on a blank sheet of paper, mainly brainstorming how I would organize everything. I had written biography pieces before, and I usually just went straight through their life. Some of my colleagues would break up their subject's life, like childhood, marriage, career, and so on. I would just run straight through, maybe going by years. Or maybe, since Elvis's life was broken up in decades, I would do that. I would start with the 30s and 40s first, then go on to the 50s, 60s and 70s in their own separate categories.