"'Number 47 said to number 3, you're the cutest jailbird I ever did see. I would sure be delighted with you company... C'mon and do the Jailhouse Rock with me, let's rock! Everybody let's rock... Everybody in the whole cell block was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock...'"
My gaze stayed glued to him as he sang and danced with those other sixteen men, and I memorized the words and couldn't help but think of myself as that "number 3." This was their seventh time singing this song, according to Nay, since they had to redo the number because Elvis was having a hard time focusing.
I knew exactly why...
He stole my first kiss from me! My precious first kiss was stolen by that guy with rather suggestive dance moves, sideburns, enchanting blue eyes and incredibly soft lips...
I groaned. Nay looked over at me as we stood behind the cameras. "What?" she asked.
"You know what. You saw the whole thing."
She hooked her left arm with my right. "You bet I did! And it's about time! I kinda knew he would make the first move since you wouldn't do anything about your feelings. Even while he was kissing you, you didn't! You just stood there like a stiff post."
"I didn't know what to do, Nay. I've never kissed a guy before, especially not one who's famous and annoyingly handsome."
She giggled as Rich came onto the set and talked with Elvis, who was looking directly at me as he was being talked to. He was nodding, but was he really listening to what Rich was telling him?
"Alright, back into places!" Rich shouted and got back out of the set, and he stood maybe twelve feet from Nay and me. I noticed that Elvis turned his head as he was walking back to that swirling staircase. He met my gaze and winked.
"Oh my goodness, did you see that?!" Nay squealed. "He winked at you and smirked!"
"Yes, I saw it, Nay, now drop it."
She only grinned at that. I knew she was happy that something happened between Elvis and me. I watched him as the number played out in its entirety, and Nay danced as all the guys did. Heat rushed into my face as Elvis moved his hips around. Would it kill him not to do that?
"Alright, cut!" Rich, shouted when the number was through, and the guys who were a part of it patted each other on the back. Elvis looked my way and gave me a cute smile. I turned and walked off the set. Naturally, Nay followed me.
"Hey, hey, where are you going?" she asked when we were in the hallway leading to the set.
"I can't be here anymore, not with him here."
She noticed the emotion in my voice and brought me into a hug. My throat tightened, and a sob escaped me. "Oh, sweetie... you're just shocked that all this is happening. You've always been a no-nonsense type of person, and then suddenly, you meet a guy who catches you off-guard."
"I don't want to like him..." I whined into her shoulder as I hugged her.
"Sarah, I think you're in love with him."
I thought back to what I said before he kissed me, and what I implied when I said it. "I think I told him the same thing."
She gasped and brought me out to face her, her blue eyes wide. "Wait, what? You told him that you're in love with him?! I just saw him kiss you, I didn't hear anything you two said to each other."
"I told him that I wished I could go back to hating him."
She brought me back into her arms. "And he would naturally think the opposite of hate. Oh, Sarah... this is wonderful. He may be famous, but... you found yourself a great boyfriend."
That made my heart pulse, and I stepped out of her hold. I hugged myself. "I... No, he's not my boyfriend. I don't want him to be."
"Yes, you do. Go out there and tell him so. You already let him kiss you. Time for the next step."
"I don't want to go steady with a star, especially not him."
Someone else came into the hallway, and of all people it could be... He stood there with sad eyes. I turned to go. I heard Nay say to him, "Well, what are you waiting for? Go after her."
It was vain to hope that he wouldn't follow me. By the moment I escaped out the door to where my car was, I heard the door open again behind me. I had to have this conversation with him.
"How much did you hear?" I asked him, and I smelled a hint of his perfume in the soft late-morning wind.
"Just the last thing you said. What if I wasn't famous?"
"That's irrelevant since you are."
"Are you sayin' you would go steady with me if I wasn't famous? That's the only thing?"
I said nothing, and birds chirped somewhere. I was jealous of them because they didn't have a care in the world. Footsteps came up behind me.
"Sarah... look, we know how we feel about each other, so... why not just try it out, huh?" I said nothing. "Are you mad that I kissed ya without asking you first?"
I folded my arms over my chest, more for security than the cool wind. "I'm mad at you for a lot of things, but... yes, that's at the top of the list."
"But you wanted it."
My heart raced, and tears stung my eyes again. I whirled around to face him as he still wore his get-up from the number. His blue eyes saddened again when he saw my state. My eyes burned, so they were probably bloodshot.
"Fine," I spat. "Yes, you're right, but you should already know that because I didn't punch you in the face for kissing me earlier, and... what I said before it happened."
A smirk emerged as he remembered. "So... what now?"
"You're famous."
He got the hint with those two words, and his smirk disappeared. And, as to prove my words true, someone shouted, "Look, there's Elvis!"
It took only seconds for a slew of people—reporters from the looks of them—to hound the both of us.
"Elvis, how is filming Jailhouse Rock?"
"Who is this young lady with you?"
"Is this the girl you spoke of on the radio this morning?"
"Is she the maid-turned actress Miss Sarah Paul?"
The questioned hammered, and I stood there, not knowing what to do. Elvis seemed calm as can be and smiled at all the reporters. Before I could hear him giving them any answers to their questions, I pushed my way through, wanting desperately to get to my car. Over the ruckus, I heard my name being called.
Drat. The press already knew my name, but now, they know what I look like. This will not be pretty.
~ ~ ~
Well, I was in the paper the day after, and on to a few days later. Friday came again, and I stood at my front door, not wanting to see the paper, but I knew I had to pick it up from my door mat so people wouldn't steal it. Dixie scratched at the door. I had to let her out, anyway, to do her business.
"Okay, okay, let's get your leash," I told her and got her long pink leash and hooked it to her collar. The moment I opened the door, she zoomed out, but was stopped by the lease. I saw the newspaper. I picked it up, threw it inside, then went on with my little dog. My gaze landed on the white house down the street... Elvis's house. He would be on the set this morning. I was told by Rich that I didn't need to be on the set until the following Monday. This happened - spaces of time where I wouldn't need to be on the set. We were filming one of the last scenes, the one where Vince is in the hospital after getting beaten up by Hunk. Rich wanted me to play a nurse. Filming would cease on the 21st. It was the 14th. Thank goodness. I was ready for this film to be over, and I could move on to something different and work every day. I just needed to find another job to do.
I tore my gaze from Elvis's house and went on down the four flights of stairs, Dixie in my arms, and she was immediately panting because of the warm weather. Right at the bottom, there was a patch of grass, and Dixie immediately started sniffing around. I stood there, waiting. Movement caught my eye to my right. I turned and saw my next-door neighbor Ralph, the one who worked on Elvis's house's property. I had greeted him a few times in passing after our first conversation.
"Well, good morning, Miss Paul."
"Sarah. I told you, remember?"
He grinned, and I couldn't help but think it handsome, even though he himself was only so-so. This guy was single, but he was also around ten years older than me. "Yes, right. Sarah. And Dixie, right?"
We both looked down at Dixie as she just finished doing her business. "Yes, that's it."
"You likin' show business?"
The last time I was in the studio, Elvis kissed me, I watched him swing his hips in that dance number, and the press hounded the both of us. "Well... yes and no."
He planted his hands on his hips. He was in jeans and a green polo shirt, and it contrasted with the orange tint in his brown hair. "Sorry to hear that. You've seen the paper, right?"
Dixie went over to Ralph and sniffed his brown loafers. "Yes, and don't remind me. I've been in the paper the past few days."
"And today. Boy, everyone's wondering about you."
"Yes, and if I had to be on the set, I would get hounded with questions. I really don't like how people are pairing me with Elvis."
"And why not? The articles say that you two were seen having a private conversation at the film studio. Everyone thinks you two are an item."
"I'm aware, and they're wrong. We just talked."
His left brow rose in a questioning fashion. "Really?"
My brows creased as I studied him for a moment. "Wait... you work at his house sometimes. You've met him, haven't you? And he's told you things?"
He shrugged. "Guilty. The day after you two were seen talking, he was walking out his back door, and I happened to be there trimming a bush. He greeted me—really nice guy, by the way—and we talked for a minute. I told him things like how my kid-sister is totally in love with him, and I myself like to listen to his music. We went on to discussing work and family, and things like that. Of course, I said I was single, and he... well, he said he wasn't sure about the status of a relationship he has with a certain young woman. He told me everything."
My heart started beating faster, and heat came to my cheeks. "Everything, meaning..."
"Yeah. The guy can talk."
I groaned and ran a hand down my face. "Really, that guy is completely mindless. He just goes on and tells any random joe our story."
"I think he just wanted someone to talk to. That manager of his doesn't look like the sympathetic type."
Things were seeming to get worse. "Did you tell him you're my neighbor?"
"I did. I think I became one of his favorite people after that. He's nuts about you, Sarah, if you don't mind me saying so. And... from the sound of it, you're nuts about him, too. Playing hard-to-get seems tiring. Why do it?"
I folded my arms, not happy that Elvis went and blabbed our personal life to my neighbor. It was wild to think that we even had a personal life with each other.
"Okay, yeah, it's none of my business," Ralph said, noticing my scowl. "I'm sorry."
I shook my head. "It's already done, and... I guess..."
"You don't want to go steady with someone famous? He said that."
"Yeah, and he's right."
"So... why not just do it, anyway? You're already famous, since you've been in the paper and have a special relationship with him, so why not?"
I said nothing, staring off at the staircase that I really wanted to bolt up. Dixie tugged at the leash as she walked around in the grass, and she panted away while I was beginning to sweat from the heat. Ralph had a point—I was at least a little famous now, and Elvis and I were paired together in the press.
"I... don't know," I mumbled, now realizing that I really didn't know why I was playing hard-to-get, as Ralph put it.
"Well, better stop torturing him, and yourself, and start up with him. Be vulnerable, be in love, all that good stuff. It's fun."
"And frustrating. I just... I don't want to let him feel like he's won."
Ralph snickered, amused. "Won? There's no competition here from my understanding of it. Both of you win since you like each other."
I pressed my lips together. Again, he had a point, a point that I hadn't thought of before. "Um... I should get back inside. Excuse me, Ralph."
As I walked away with Dixie, he shouted, "Goodbye, Sarah, and good luck with Elvis! Don't let him wait!"
"Oh man..." I moaned in disdain as Dixie and I reached the stairs, and I picked her up before I ascended. "There's no turning back from here."
Before I made the first step on the stairs, and proving my words true, I heard behind me, "Hey, there she is! Sarah Paul!"
I gasped and ran up the stairs with Dixie, but the reporters followed me. There didn't seem to be a lot, maybe half-a-dozen. By the third floor, one man ran faster than the others and myself and appeared in front of me, halting me. I panted from the run and sweated from the summer heat. It was amazing how warm it was, even though it was morning.
"Miss Paul, you're the maid who became an actress! Tell NBC News, how does that feel?"
"Miss Paul, could you tell us what you and Elvis were talking about outside of the film set earlier this week?" asked a man on my left.
"What is it like to live down the street from Elvis?" a woman asked on my right.
"Are you two in a relationship?"
"Has Elvis been to you home before? Has he met your dog?"
"Are you his new girlfriend? Did he dump Barbara Hearn because of you?"
The questions came, and there was no way of an escape since the reporters surrounded me as I held Dixie. She was shaking, frightened by all the commotion. These reporters knew a surprising amount if they were able to ask those questions. Just what did Elvis tell them before I left the other day?
"Well..." I muttered, thinking I should just shove my way through. This was near the stairwell, so none of the people living in the apartments could see what was going on.
"Yes?!" a lady demanded.
They all had notepads ready, eagerness in all of their eyes. I cleared my throat. I wouldn't be able to escape without answering. "Well, I'll say this—Elvis and I know each other, yes, but we are certainly not a couple. Coworkers, yes, but not a couple."
"Do you want to be?" asked a blonde man who looked not that much older than me.
I couldn't pause. Pausing would mean that my answer was yes. "No, I don't. I never wanted to be. I hated Elvis from the beginning. I was thrown into show business because of him, and while the work itself is fun, the fact that he's present makes it difficult."
They rapidly wrote on their notepads. "So, you're not his girlfriend?" asked that same man.
"Absolutely not."
"Has anything happened between the two of you?" asked a brunette lady around forty. "Elvis has hinted that he has feelings for you."
I knew he did, in that radio interview. Again, I couldn't pause. "No, there hasn't. Excuse me, please."
I pushed through them with all my might. They still followed, throwing questions at me...
"How does it feel to know that Elvis Presley has feelings for you?"
"Do you think you will eventually like him?"
"What is your dog's name? How many people are in your family?"
"Where did you grow up?"
I was getting up there on the famous meter if they were asking about my dog, my family and where I lived in the past. I was when I first associated with Elvis. I didn't answer and made it to the fourth floor. I ran for my apartment and opened the door and slammed it in their faces. I locked it.
"Oh my word..." I gasped as my heart hammered from running and from imagining what the paper would say the following day. I let Dixie down and took her leash off. She ran for her water and lapped it up. "I'm forever going to be paired with Elvis. The whole country now knows that there's something between us." Dixie continued to drink. "Dixie, I need to just hide in a hole."
That wouldn't do much good, either. At least everyone would be under the impression that I still hated Elvis. I should let it stay that way, regardless of my feelings for him. I needed to play hard-to-get so the press wouldn't explode with stories. So what if I would torture both Elvis and myself? So what if I would never allow him to come near my face again, not allowing me to see his extremely handsome face up close, along with those lips that I would want to touch with mine? And so what if I didn't see those confounded sad puppy-dog eyes again?!
Tears stung my own eyes. I didn't want to think about how difficult it would be.