These people really thought that I was crazy. They put me onto the psychology floor to this hospital and even called a psychologist to talk to me. I sat on the edge of my hospital bed after the man left. I let out a hefty sigh in exaggeration.
"This is seriously insane, and that doctor thinks I'm insane. These people are the ones who need a psychologist, not me."
I took my purse off of the little table next to the bed. I hadn't opened it since that nurse gave it to me. They immediately took me to this floor by wheelchair, and that psychologist came in right after I entered this room.
"Okay, let's call Mr. Strauss and tell him what's going on, then I'm calling Mom to vent."
I opened my purse, and my heart jumped in alarm. My wallet was in there, and my pen and notepad, but that was it! My phone was missing, as well as my lip balm, my car keys and my lotion... I opened my wallet.
"My license is gone, and so are all my cards!"
My heart raced in anger, and I frowned. That Elvis impersonator stole everything from me!
Someone knocked on the door. Tears stinging my eyes, I took a deep breath to calm myself and told them to come in. A middle-aged man came in, one who was dressed in a gray suit and matching hat and had a cigar in his mouth. I blinked.
"Hello, there, Miss Hasam," he greeted me in an accent, European of some sort, and removed the cigar. "May I come in?"
"I already said that you could."
"Indeed." He came in and shut the door. "My name is Colonel Tom Parker."
How come that name sounded familiar? "Hi. Apparently, you already know my name. Who are you exactly? You're not dressed as a doctor."
He tossed the cigar into a bin and slammed his hands into his pants pockets. "No, I'm not a doctor, but a manager to a certain star, the one who took you to the hospital a couple of hours ago. I'm here for one of two reasons: one..."
"Hold on," I stopped him. "Sorry, but you're the manager of that Elvis impersonator?"
He chuckled, then said under his breath, "Wow, he wasn't kidding."
I ignored his comment. "If you're his manager, I have to tell you he stole from me! My phone is missing, my driver's license is missing, and so are all my credit and Debit cards. He even took my lip balm and my lotion!"
His facial expression didn't change. "Elvis wouldn't steal from another person, and especially not their driver's license and their credit cards. I can't say anything about the lip balm and lotion, though."
I really couldn't believe this. "Then it must be those men with him! I want my stuff back!"
"I can assure you that Elvis and the Mafia wouldn't have those things, Miss Hasam. Now, I am here to see how you are doing since Elvis was worried about you. Clearly, you are doing fine, other than both your feet and an arm in a cast."
I sat up straight. "I sure hope that Elvis is going to pay for the damages here. My insurance card is missing, too."
He nodded to that. "I'm sorry that some of your important items are missing. And in response to what you just said, Elvis would be happy to pay the medical bill. In fact, that was another thing he wanted me to tell you."
"That's a relief. Is he here?"
"He's outside in his car. He called me up and told me of the situation, hence my presence here."
I stared at him for a moment, studying him. "What was your name again?"
"Colonel Tom Parker."
My mind over-worked to think about where I heard that name before. I went through everyone that I worked with, people my family knew, people my family had told me about...
Oh my Lord. "Elvis Presley's manager Colonel Tom Parker."
"Yes, ma'am. That's me."
I couldn't help but snicker. "Wow, seriously? That Elvis impersonator even galivants around with a man who calls himself the same name as the real Elvis's manager. That's something to write down."
I got out my pen and paper, thankful that I at least had those things still, and wrote that down with my right hand that was thankfully not hurt. These people were really die-hard fans.
"Miss Hasam..." the so-called Colonel Parker said. "You have seen a psychologist, correct?"
I stopped writing at looked up at him, meeting his blue-gray eyes. "Yes, I have. And if you ask me, everyone here needs to get their heads checked, not me. No offense, but people around here are obsessed with Elvis and go to great lengths because of him. My job as a reporter is to tell the world about that."
He let out a sigh. "Wow, this woman is something else," he muttered to himself. "Well, if you're a reporter, then I must ask you to not talk about what happened today. Other reporters will take care of it."
I creased my brows. "Of course I'm going to write about all this. Elvis impersonators are all crazies, especially the one who brought me here. I think it was all a scam. While he may have had good intentions by taking me to the hospital, he still stole from me before bringing back my purse. I'm going to blow that up like a balloon."
Colonel Parker groaned. "My God, he didn't steal from you, Miss Hasam!"
"How do you know? Did you check his pockets?"
"He's not the type of man who would steal from another person. I already said that. He's a good man, maybe too good from his own good. Hence why you're here."
I huffed, annoyed. "I think he took advantage of the opportunity. Maybe he was faking the whole 'saving the damsel in distress' thing just so he could get my goods."
He said nothing to that and rubbed his thumb and pointer finger on his forehead. That was when a bunch of screams suddenly erupted from outside of the door, and they came closer. Colonel Parker let out a large sigh in annoyance. "That boy really can't sit still, can he?"
Someone knocked, and Colonel Parker went over and opened the door. That Elvis impersonator came in. My eyes widened.
"Hey, you!" I hollered, pointing at him with my free arm, and hating that I couldn't stand and point my finger in his face and be more intimidating. I could be when I wanted too. And when I was able to. "I have a serious bone to pick with you."
"As you can see, she's fine, just bandaged up," said Colonel Parker. "Really, you should've stayed in the car."
"I wanted to see for myself, Colonel."
"You have a real nerve coming in here after what you did," I said, and confusion crossed his handsome features. It was irritating how good-looking he was, and how well-built. He looked at the older man who looked old enough to be his father but wasn't, most likely, since they looked nothing alike.
"She's under the impression that you're an impersonator of yourself, and you took advantage of rescuing her just so you could steal her driver's license and credit cards," Colonel Parker said.
"And my phone, lotion and lip balm, plus my insurance card," I added. "I got handed my purse, and all those things were missing."
Alarm came to the impersonator's face now. "What? All of those things are missin' from your purse?"
"Don't play dumb. Hand them over." I held out my hand, and when he and Colonel Parker exchanged glances without doing anything else, irritation pricked my chess painfully. "Now, please!"
Elvis stepped up to me as I sat there, seemingly calm, and that somehow irked me even more. "I promise ya, Miss Hasam, I didn't take anythin' of yours, and I promise that Sonny nor Jerry did, either. They're good guys."
"Then where did all my things go?"
"Your guess is as good as mine."
His blue eyes showed sincerity and gentleness, as well as worry. He was telling the truth. After ten years in my job, I learned to know when people were lying. Colonel Parker didn't have any hint of lying in his eyes, either.
"Oh my gosh..." I muttered, and my whiny voice escaped. "This isn't happening..."
Stinging tears came to my eyes and dropped. A look of alarm came to Elvis's features. "Hey, hey, now... it's alright. Look, we can ask my buddies Sonny and Jerry about your things, okay?"
"Just promise us you're not going to write a story about Elvis stealing anything from you," Colonel Parker put in.
I looked between the two of them for a few seconds, and my gaze stopped on Elvis. "Okay, I won't write anything like that. Just... tell me your name. Your real one. All charades aside."
He looked at Colonel Parker then back at me. "It's Elvis Presley, Miss Hasam. As God as my witness, that's my name. I'm no impersonator."
Again, there was no hint of lying in his eyes. My heart jolted and started racing.
1965... outdated clothing... vintage cars... Elvis Presley... Colonel Tom Parker...
Lights started flashing in front of my eyes as my heart started to run faster than it ever had, and my hands went numb. Black took over my vision and mind.
~ ~ ~
Gosh, what a weird dream. I get knocked down in a crowd of people, and the real Elvis Presley helps me up and takes me to the hospital? After stealing all my things? Or did he? I don't know. Thank goodness that was all a dream.
"Elvis, we really have to get going," I heard faintly.
"She's not awake yet, Colonel. I wanna wait 'til I know she's okay. She received quite the shock."
"You should be used to women fainting in your presence. The moment she found out that you're not a fake, lights out."
"Let's just wait, okay? We don't have to be anywhere for another hour."
"That doesn't mean that we have to wait here. She's just a reporter."
"She's a woman who isn't well, not mentally or physically. I just wanna see 'er through this."
"Sometimes that good heart of yours is pretty annoying."
Their conversation was starting to make sense, and it sounded familiar. My eyes popped open, and I looked over to see those two men again, the same ones from my dream.
I groaned. Maybe this isn't a dream. But how is that possible? Time travel isn't possible. It just isn't!
"Hey, she's awake!"
The Elvis man came up to me, smiling, and the other man followed. I looked between the two, confused.
"You okay?" asked the Elvis man. "You were out for about five minutes."
Five minutes? I had never been passed out for that long. "Yeah... maybe."
"The doctor said you should be fine, but I wanted to wait and see for myself. How are ya feelin'?"
"Dandy," I said sarcastically and attempted to sit up. The younger of the two helped me do so, and I smelled that same intoxicating cologne. "I passed out."
"Yeah, you did, and I'm afraid it's my fault. I'm sorry."
"He tends to have that effect of the ladies," said the older man, and I stared at him.
"Colonel Tom Parker..." I muttered.
"That's me."
I looked at the other man as he stood near the older one. "Elvis Presley."
"That's me."
I blinked several times again, as if trying to erase them from my vision like when you shake an Etch-A-Sketch. They were still standing there, both with their arms folded.
They were real.
"I'm feeling dizzy again..." I said and put my unhurt hand to my head. "This isn't happening. 1965... Elvis Presley? That's not possible. This is all insane."
I was talking to myself, and the two men probably thought I was crazy. I heard Colonel Parker say, "I think we need to fetch the psychologist."
"I think she's just in shock."
"The Elvis shock. You're right. But we should go, Elvis. Leave her to the doctors."
I looked over to the men whispering to each other, my eyes narrowing. "Excuse me." They looked over at me. "I can hear you, you know. And I'll have you know that this is not 'Elvis shock' or whatever that is. I'm not a fan of Elvis. I never was. What I'm shocked at is that it's, what, 1965?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Elvis. "The last I checked."
"That's what I thought you said. This is nuts... it's supposed to be 2022. And cars don't just magically change into vintage cars when you're in them. Hotels don't just disappear, either."
"I'm getting the psychologist," said Colonel Parker. "And then we're leaving."
He left the room before Elvis nor I could say anything more. "I don't need a psychologist!" I paused. "Don't I?"
Elvis smirked, which looked very real. He came over to me. "I think you're still a bit in shock with what's goin' on."
"Yeah... so, he said that you wanted to pay for my hospital visit?"
"Yes, ma'am. Every penny. I feel that it's my fault that you're in this mess. You're a reporter, right, who wanted to ask me some questions?"
"I originally wanted to ask an Elvis impersonator questions, but it turns out that I magically got transported back in time and that Elvis impersonator is actually the real Elvis."
He chuckled at that and brought the doctor stool over and sat on it as he faced me. He probably thought that was a joke. "Ask away. We have until that manager of mine comes back."
Elvis or not, here was my opportunity. My first interview. "Okay, well..." I got my notepad out. I eyed him, his face, his blue eyes... "So, thank you for taking me here. And paying the medical bill."
"Not a problem. And I promise I'll look for your things in my car. If I find anythin', I'll let you know. What hotel are you stayin' in?"
"I'm asking the questions first."
He smirked again, and my heart jumped. He really needed to stop doing that. It was playing with my insides too much. "Okay. Go ahead."
"Well..." I cleared my throat, getting to business. "I'm writing a story about Elvis Presley's life. What could you tell me about his life that hasn't been printed or put online?"
"Online? Could you tell me what that means?"
1965... right. "Nevermind. Just tell me something that the general public wouldn't know, like... a memory from his childhood that was key into him making it big."
"Well..." he began and put his thinking face on, "Do you already know about how I obtained my first guitar?"
My. I had to get used to him using those pronouns. I thought back to what Grandma told me. "I don't think I've heard about it."
"Well, you see, I was turnin' seven, and I wanted a bike or a rifle for my birthday. I even told my parents, my grandparents and my friends that I wanted those things, but I got guitar instead. I didn't want it at first, but when a family friend started teachin' me how to play it, I never put it down, not even at school. I got bullied because of it, but I think it was worth it."
This was fascinating. I wrote all of that down. "So that was the start of it all? Then what? You walked into a recording studio?"
"I played and sang in a little band in high school, and played at the complex where my family lived, and people liked it. That drove me to walk into Sun Records and sing somethin' for 'em. They didn't like it—thought I couldn't sing. So, I left, and went back a few more times until a kind man by the name of Sam Phillips gave me a chance. After I recorded 'That's Alright Momma', people asked about me, and I soon recorded more songs. Before I knew it, I was signin' a singin' contract on November 20th, 1955. Wow, has it really been ten years?"
I disregarded that last sentence. I had heard snippets of that story growing up, but not put together like that. I wrote it all down. "Then it was on from there, huh? When was Graceland purchased?"
"Back in the spring of 1957. I wanted to move my parents out of the dinky place they were in and buy a nice place for all of us to live in. Sadly, my momma was able to enjoy it for a little over a year after that until she passed, but it was one of the best purchases I've ever made, if not the best."
His mom passed away. Impersonator or not, that was incredibly sad. "And it's just, what, down the road?"
"A couple miles away, yes."
I wrote all of that down, and as I did, the door opened again, and in came Colonel Parker and that same psychology doctor. I grimaced. "Seriously..."
"Miss Hasam, how are ya?" asked the black-haired doctor, whose name was Dr. Benaco.
"Well, considering I nearly broke both of my ankles and my arm trying to get an interview, time traveling over fifty years into the past, and meeting the Elvis Presley, I would say that I'm doing alright."
I saw that all the men besides the doctor tried to hold in laughter. "Very good," said Dr. Benaco, then looked at Elvis. "It is a pleasure, Mr. Presley."
He stood up, and they shook hands. "The same. So, do you think that Miss Hasam will be okay?"
"Mentally, yes. She's in shock. It will pass."
There was truth to his words. I was in shock at all this happening, and it would soon pass. At least, I felt that it would. That Elvis looked too much like Elvis to not be him. How wild it was that I thought that.
"That's good." He turned to face me. "Looks like I have to get goin', Miss Hasam."
"Rebecca," I said. "You can call me Rebecca."
He smiled. "Very well, Rebecca. And don't worry about the medical bill, alright? It's all taken care of."
"Thank you. That's very kind."
"What hotel did you say you were stayin' in? I wanna make sure to get your things back to ya if I find 'em."
"Oh, yes. It's the Guest House at Graceland on Elvis Presley Boulevard, but... I don't think it's there anymore."
"I admit it's not a hotel I've heard of, and I had no idea that there was a road named after me."
"It's the street that I met you on," I said. "The same as where the mansion is."
"There's no hotel down that street," said Colonel Parker. "But the Memphis Hotel is farther down the road, maybe a mile."
"Then... maybe that one. I really don't know anymore."
"Then I'll head on there." He asked the doctor, "How long do you think she'll be here?"
"I think she's good to go now, I would just recommend her resting and not doing anything to stress her mind."
I heard him loud and clear. "Okay, then. I guess my work will have to wait. My boss is gonna love that. So... my car..."
"Sonny drove it over," Elvis said. "It's in the parking lot. But I can have 'im take it over to the hotel, and then we can give ya a ride there."
So that's where my keys went. I couldn't get mad about them bringing my car.
"Elvis!" Colonel Parker reprimanded like a father would to his kid after doing or saying something crazy.
"What? We brought 'er here, I think we can take 'er wherever she needs to go."
His manager let out a long sigh. "Okay. But you're leaving first, and I'll follow you after with Miss Hasam."
"Sounds like a plan."
I didn't think I had much of a choice since I didn't know what else to do. Elvis left, and I was taken out by wheelchair by his manager. Once in the car, Elvis sat in the back with me, the Colonel in the passenger's seat, and one of the Mafia at the wheel. Memphis Mafia? That had to be it. The other man was taking my new vintage car.
"On we go," said Elvis, and I looked over at him. He met my gaze.
"This is off the record, but do you normally take random people off the street and take them places like a cab service?"
I got laughter from both Elvis and his manager. "Only when they need some help," Elvis said. "You couldn't even stand, so I wanted to help ya out a bit."
"Remember what I said about him being too good for his own good?" asked Colonel Parker, and Elvis blushed.
"C'mon, Colonel. I'm just doin' what anyone would."
"Say what you want, Elvis. Now I have to deal with the papers printing a story about you sweeping a woman up in your arms and putting her into your car. You know what people are going to say about that, right?"
"Yes, but when they come askin', I'll just say I was takin' 'er to get some medical help - that's what I said, anyway, when I was doin' it. There's gonna be no scandal or nothin'."
I coughed. "I'm sorry, scandal?"
"Yes, Miss Hasam," said Colonel Parker. "Every time Elvis even talks to a woman closely, the press creates some wild story about her being his new girlfriend or some-such, regardless of the one he already has. The same is going to happen with you, so you better be prepared for it."
I looked at Elvis, at his handsome face, and my own face started heating. Admittedly, I was a tad let down to find out he had a girlfriend. Well, a hot man like him... of course he would. All the hot men were taken. I cleared my throat. "Um... well, I'll admit that I've never been paired with my interviewee in the paper like that before."
"We'll take care of it once it comes out," Elvis said. "And since you're a reporter, you should know what to do when people start to hound ya and hammer ya with questions, right?"
"Yes, it's happened before, but rarely in the ten years I've been doing this."
"Ten years, huh? Impressive."
Colonel Parker piped up from the front: "Golly... I wish people wouldn't make a big deal about whatever Elvis does, but that's the way it is. Especially whenever there's a beautiful woman involved. It's plastered all over the papers, no matter the situation."
Beautiful? No man had called me that in two years. "Thanks for the complement."
"Don't thank me, thank him. When he told me about this whole situation after he dropped you off at the hospital, he was going on and on about how beautiful you were. I should be used to it by now."
I looked over at Elvis and saw that his cheeks had gained more crimson. "Thanks, Colonel," he droned. "But it's not like I was lyin'."
"Thank you all the same," I said and met his gaze. "You're not so bad yourself."
That smirk came back. Was it bad for me to say that when he had a girlfriend?
"Thanks," he said.
Our gazes held, and that heat intensified on my cheeks as I stared at those shiny blue eyes. I quickly looked away as Elvis chuckled. Even though I had olive skin, blush still could be seen on my cheeks. My older sister Eva reminded me of that over and over again. Once she caught wind of this, she would never let me live it down, either. I just wish I could get a hold of her. My phone was gone, too.
I glanced at Elvis again. I just had a moment with him, and it was tickling me all over the place.
"Here we are," said the man at the wheel. Jerry, maybe. "I can help you in, Miss Hasam."
"Thank you, but I think I can walk decently on my own now. I'm a fast healer. I'll just... oh. My cards are gone."
"I'll take care of it," said Elvis. "However long ya need, I'll take care of it. Jerry, just go on in and request the room, and tell 'em there will be someone on the phone with 'em soon to pay the bill."
"Alright, pal."
My mouth opened, surprised, and I looked at Elvis. "Oh my gosh, you don't need to do that."
"I want to, since, like I said before—I feel responsible for all this, that your things were stolen. They don't seem to be here in the car."
"Yeah, I noticed. And... thanks."
"No problem."
I stared at his kind blue eyes for a moment longer, then opened the door to the car. Jerry was there with the wheelchair. I was being helped in, apparently. I got into the chair, and soon, I was booked into the hotel. Thankfully, the other of the Mafia—Sonny—brought in my suitcase. From my hotel room window, I could see that black car drive off, Elvis in it.
I was in 1965. That was the real Elvis. How did this happen?