Hey, all! So, I have had a cold these past few days, and I wrote this while sneezing, coughing and blowing my nose. Fitting, considering the chapter title. haha
Also, I have the best husband on the planet. He is NOT a fan of Elvis, but he knows how much I love Elvis and how many stories I have written about him, so... for my birthday a couple weeks ago, he surprised me with a thick, 600-page Elvis encyclopedia on everything that has to do with Elvis. From now on, I'll be referring to that tome for info regarding people, films, events and so forth for this story. It's pretty darn helpful and has information that Google doesn't.
~ ~ ~
The crew stood back as Gene really laid it on one of the cameramen for not shooting a certain angle. My brows rose as I stood there with everyone else, watching this go on. I had never seen Gene so upset in the short time that I had known him. I knew him to be pretty level-headed and cool as a cucumber. The man was stressed. It was obvious.
"He's been like this the past few days," a crew member said next to me, a blonde woman who looked thirty-five. "He's been railing the crew and cast for the slightest mistake."
"I've noticed," I remarked. "Good thing I haven't been in the line of fire. I'm only an extra. I don't have to do much."
I eyed Elvis in there, along with the extras that play thieves, and that included a small man. He looked forty but wasn't four feet tall. His name was Billy Barty, and from what I heard from other members of the cast, he was in the movie Roustabout with Elvis as well. Both him and Elvis watched Gene yell at the poor cameraman. Another one had to put a hand on his shoulder, and he simmered down. I saw Elvis press his lips together.
"Okay, okay, let's redo the take," Gene said, and everyone got to it, and I watched them redo a town scene when the thieves and Elvis were running for it.
Thankfully, Elvis never bothered me since our last talk. Maybe he was afraid to. That was another thing to add to my notes—Elvis didn't like being a bother. Well, that was good for me. Yes, I still needed more information, but him not talking to me would give me some time to work on my article. I really needed to get started on that.
~ ~ ~
I sat down on the floor in front of the coffee table, my back to the sofa, that evening after both Mary Ann and I arrived home. "Okay, time to work on my article."
I put out all my notes that I had written or obtained so far and read through a couple of them. There were a lot since I took notes as I was on the set, observing Elvis. There was probably about fifty pieces of paper strewn all over this table. I heard Mary Ann say as she studied me while standing near the coffee table, "You're thinking about him, aren't you?"
"I have to. I'm writing a summary of his life."
"You know what I mean."
Indeed, I did. "I have to focus on the story, not Elvis's feelings for me."
"And your feelings for him. Look, I've known Elvis for about a year, and I know him to be a man who doesn't let things go, even if he doesn't say anything about it. Those looks he gives you with those blue puppy-dog eyes of his... It will force you to do something about the situation."
He was giving me those little looks the past few days since our kiss scene. "You've known him a year?"
"M-hm. We played in the film Girl Happy together last year."
"Huh." I rummaged through my notes and found the one he wrote out, the list of his movies. I read the titles of the movies. "Ah-ha, Girl Happy, 1965, directed by Boris Sagal. So, it was filmed in 1964 but came out in 1965."
"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.
My mind made up, I labelled blank sheets of paper with the respective decades. Once I had that done, I stared at the four pieces of paper, realizing I really didn't have much to go on.
I had no choice. I needed talk to Elvis. I needed more information. As much as I wanted to avoid him, he was my subject. Mary Ann was right in saying I should take advantage of having him around and accessible when he most definitely wasn't in my time.
~ ~ ~
Midnight hit, and I was yawning as I was writing things down in on the 70s sheet of paper. I wrote down as much as I could for the previous decades. Of course, I couldn't get any information on the 70s here, so I just wrote down what I knew from what I was told by various people and from my own general knowledge of the rock 'n' roll king.
1am arrived, and I decided to head on to bed. The next morning, I munched on a piece of toast with strawberry jam as I read through more notes.
Those kisses came back to mind again, and my heart started beating faster. "Focus," I ordered myself as Mary Ann went to the door. She was dressed in modest pink 60s dress with matching shoes.
"I'm heading out," she said. "I'll be back around five."
"Okay. See you later. Have a good day."
"You, too. Good luck."
She left out the door, and I was left alone. A couple of hours passed as I filled more things out on the pieces of paper, adding little notes regarding Elvis's character here and there. I couldn't really say that he was impulsive since that would hint of my actually knowing him. But others described him as that. I would add it anyway.
Lunchtime came around, and I stood up and stretched. At that exact moment, someone knocked on the door. I creased my brows. Who would be knocking in the middle of the day when most people were at work? Too bad there wasn't a peep hole to look through. I ran my fingers through my long wavy hair and answered the door. I couldn't help but let out a gasp when I saw who it was.
"What the heck are you doing here?" I demanded. "Aren't you supposed to be sick?"
His lips quirked up, and he chuckled. And, wow, did he look good in those black slacks and blue dress shirt. "Hi to you, too." He looked me up and down. "I like your pajamas."
I realized that I was still in PJs—modest pink satin ones. I cleared my throat as I felt a bit self-conscious about being in PJs without my hair and makeup done in front of a hot man. But I shouldn't want to impress him. "Thanks. So... you're not sick?"
He shrugged. "Well, you saw how Gene was actin' yesterday. I thought I'd do him a favor and call in sick. I can become sick pretty darn quickly, you know."
I rolled my eyes. "Of course you can. So, you really just gave yourself and everyone else a day off?"
"You're welcome. Plus, we've all skipped work or school pretendin' to be sick sometimes, right? It's just one of those things."
"No, not for me."
"Well, aren't you a perfect little angel, then? You never skipped school or work?"
"Besides when I was actually sick."
"You're one of those people, then, huh?"
This was seriously the conversation we were having after our last one? "What are you doing here, really?"
"I figured you'd be here since you don't have to be on the set. I thought that, if you want to, I could help you out with this article of yours." He looked passed me into the living room. "Looks like you've been workin' on it."
I blocked the inside of the apartment. "I have, and... well..." A battle ensued in my mind. Did I want to be alone with him for hours as he helped me with this, or should I just say no and schedule some other time? But when? Elvis was a busy man. This was probably one day out of many where he could have a day off. "Okay. Fine. Come in." He grinned and came on in. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm going to change."
I left promptly so he couldn't make any remark to that. As I rummaged through my outfits, my heart pounded. I really had to be professional. It was never this hard with other people I wrote articles on.
"When I go back home, it's safe to say that I will be right along with Mom and Grandma as far as the Elvis obsession. Dang it, Mr. Strauss. Maybe him and my relatives were in cahoots. I wouldn't be surprised since they've all met."
I chose a pair of jeans and a dark-green blouse that hung loose on me but fit nicely. I would normally wear something like this casually at home.
I went to the bathroom to touch up my hair and put some makeup on. I came out to the living room and saw Elvis sitting on the sofa, one of the papers in hand. My heart jolted when I saw that it was the 70s paper. Well, I guess I'll have to tell him the hard truth now.
"Hey," I said as I sat down on his left. "So... now you know."
The atmosphere, as well as his expression, wasn't cheery. "I... guess so. I never expected..." He looked over at me. "So, the Elvis that your people know dies in 1977? From heart failure? How?"
My people? It sounded like he was saying I was from a remote village. I nodded. "Yeah. And there's speculation, as far as I know. You take prescription drugs throughout your life, and that hurts your body. You become addicted in the 70s, and your body fails." He pressed his lips together, and his eyes reddened. My plan from before came to my memory. "Well, just don't do those things, and you'll be okay."
"Prescription drugs, huh? Well... maybe it's too late for me."
In other words, he was already hooked. "Flush them all."
"Easier said than done." He took in and let out a sigh. "That's only twelve years from now." He put down the paper and picked up the 60s one. His brows shot up. "I marry Cilla and have a daughter named Lisa Marie, huh?"
"Yeah. Well, you technically marry her because another woman rejected you. That's what my grandma told me, at least. I have no idea if it's true."
"Which woman?"
"I don't know her name, but the woman who was in Viva Las Vegas with you."
His brows rose. "Ann-Margret? Really?"
"Yeah. Don't tell me that you're not a thing with her right now." He didn't say anything to that right away. "So you are. Well, I'll add that to my notes." I took the paper from him and wrote it down, but he took it away from me again.
"Hey, you don't need to add Ann-Margret to this story."
"If she's one of your girlfriends, then I have to. Like we've already discussed, you're a ladies' man and had a fair share of girlfriends throughout your life. Plus, it's obvious that you're still crazy about this woman, even now."
I didn't expect the tone that came out when I said that, and to my annoyance, he definitely heard it, and a smirk crossed his lips. "You're jealous."
"We're not going to go there. You're helping me with this, so this is going to be the only thing we talk about."
"But, hey, you said it yourself—a big part of my life is the women in my life, so it should be talked about. So, if you wanna know more about Ann-Margret, we met in 1963 when we started shootin' Viva Las Vegas. We became pretty close after that, and we're still close."
"Much to Priscilla's dismay, I bet. How many women are you tossing around right now? Five?"
"You're exaggeratin'."
My brows rose questionably. "Am I?"
He huffed through his nose in agitation. "Not five, just... three. Includin' you."
My heart pulsed, and I honestly wasn't sure if it was from irritation or the fact that he basically said we were a thing. "Okay, let's get this straight here... I'm not anything to you, other than a coworker. We're talking about girlfriends here, and I am most definitely not a girlfriend, and I don't want to be, especially since you have a couple other women. And I would add that one of them is hardly a woman, but closer to a child."
His eyes ignited. I hit a chord. "Don't say stuff about people you don't even know, okay?" he said hotly. "You know nothin' of Cilla."
I wouldn't be swayed by a mood swing, even if I caused it. "You're right, I just heard things. So, tell me, then. Am I wrong? How old is Cilla, as you called her? Seventeen?"
"Nineteen."
"Like that's any better. Really? Guys really didn't care back then, did they? And you dated her when she was fourteen? Wow."
I wrote as I was speaking, and he took the pen out of my hand. "No more writin'."
"It's true, though. It's all a part of your story. Thank the Lord, though, that you marry the girl when she's twenty-one. You know, guys that go after teenagers are put into prison where I'm from."
I snatched the pen back and wrote on the 60s paper. Elvis remained silent as I wrote notes about Priscilla, and I couldn't help but feel that jealousy, because of her and Ann-Margret.
"I have a good time with Rusty," he said after a couple minutes of silence.
"Rusty?"
"That's the nickname I have for Ann-Margret since she's a redhead, and that was her name in Viva Las Vegas. Out of all the girlfriends that I've had so far, she's the one who I think I connect to the most and the one I can have a good time with the most."
His gaze was on the messy coffee table. "Really?"
"Yeah. And... you're right about everythin'. I'm a professional two-timer, as a couple of my buddies have said. A regular Casanova. And... Cilla's not happy one bit, mainly since she put in all the trouble to come here from Germany just to be with me, and I go off with another woman. I guess my life personally as well as professionally goes down the toilet pretty fast, and I don't have time to make it right since I die twelve years from now."
Those sad eyes came back, and as irritating as he was, he was still a human being and the man who my heart was beating for at the moment. I took up the 70s paper. "Look at this. You are in concert after concert in the 70s, starting in the 60s after a comeback concert."
"Yeah, but it says that I'm pushed to do these concerts. I have no time to do anythin' else."
"But I thought you lived to sing and dance."
"I live for my family and others I care about," he corrected, and he looked over at me, meeting my gaze, seriousness in his. "I live to make sure they all are happy and taken care of, and I can't do that when I'm constantly gone at concerts and whatnot."
"Then... what are you saying? You don't want to get back into your music career?"
"I do, I just... I want more time with my loved ones." He pointed to a spot on the paper. "I get divorced from Cilla in 1973. That's not gonna happen if I can help it. And my future daughter Lisa Marie... Her daddy's gonna see 'er graduate from high school and get married."
Just from looking at my simple notes, Elvis developed a major epiphany. "So... what are you going to do now?"
"Do what you suggested—flush all those pills and... I think I should let Ann-Margret and Cilla go."
Wait a minute, hold up! "Elvis, you're supposed to marry Priscilla."
"People in your time remember me as a womanizer and a drug addict who hurt his family. That's not gonna be me. This me, not the one you know about. No more two-timin', no more pills, and more time with my family."
This was incredible, what was unfolding in front of me right now. "I think this would be a good time to mention getting a new manager, too. The Colonel pushes you so hard, you are forced to take narcotics. He may be okay now, but later..."
He nodded. "He's been a bit over-bearin' lately. I guess my life's gonna change drastically. But one thing at a time. Rusty's never gonna marry me, and Cilla..."
"You marry her, Elvis."
"No more two-timin'." Our gazes met. "When I'm hooked on a woman, I'm gonna focus just on her."
"Then choose between those two."
His whole body turned to face me, and his soft gaze caused my pulse to rise. Why did those blue eyes have to be so beautiful and captivating?
"What if there's another woman I wanna chase after?" he asked in a low tone in that titillating southern drawl. It was obvious who he was talking about.
"I'm from the future, Elvis. Plus, I want to stay away from you as much as possible, while trying to get my article done at the same time."
"You can't do both those things at the same time."
"But I'm from the future," I reminded him forcefully. "I could zip out of here tomorrow for all I know."
"Tomorrow? Then we should make the best of today, then, huh? That is, if you stop playin' hard-to-get."
I folded my arms and stuck up my chin. "Me admitting that I'm doing so would be admitting that I have feelings for you, which I..."
He suddenly leaned in and kissed me briefly on the lips, and my heart jolted when he did so. I let out a gasp, appalled, when he drew back a second later.
"Which you do," he finished. "Don't you lie to me."
The feeling of his lips on mine again brought back the deeper set kisses, and I found myself wanting to do that again, but instead, I stood up and faced away from him. This was so irritating, him getting the better of me. His voice washed over me, and I hated and loved that it did.
"How 'bout we work together on this article of yours, as well as work together on the set, while bein' a couple?"
I shut my eyes, really wishing we weren't having this conversation. "This is why I tried to avoid you these past few days..." I muttered. I said louder, "No. Not gonna happen. I just want to get this bio piece done."
"Hey, I promise I'll talk to Rusty and Cilla. I'll break up with both of 'em."
"You discarding women like old shirts is a very good reason to not accept your proposal."
He was silent for a moment, then, "Okay, you're right again. I'm a ladies' man. But like I said—I'll change that, and I can be your man."
"I don't want a man," I snapped. "You know I don't and why."
"So, if I break up with Cilla and Rusty and promise not to start anythin' with another woman, you're still not gonna budge?"
"You can't be trusted."
He snickered. "Okay, okay, let's just drop it for now. Let me help ya with this, okay? This article of yours is gonna be lengthy since a lot of stuff has happened in my life so far."
That was one of the other reasons why I didn't want to do this assignment—Elvis's life was jam-packed with many events that deserved an essay on their own, each. I let out a hefty sigh and turned around. "Okay, Shiny Hair, let's get to this. And only this, okay?"
He laughed. "Shiny Hair, huh? Why, thank you very much."
"Ooo, that's a good start. Let's talk about that very phrase you just said."
"Why?"
We started talking, and through the process, we both learned a lot. Well, there were a couple things I knew especially from this "sick" day—first, Elvis would change his life from what most people knew it to be, something that I wanted to make happen so he wouldn't die young, mainly; and second...
Those blocks in my head that were trying to keep Elvis from taking over were pretty darn close to being knocked down. I just had to make sure that those luscious lips of his didn't touch mine again, for the movie and out of it.
~ ~ ~
This is the encyclopedia my husband got me...