I hope everyone had a great holiday! I was working on another Elvis story this past week, so that's why there was another delay. I may post the other story after I finish this one. I'm not sure how long this story is going to be. Maybe a few more chapters.
~ ~ ~
The coffee table was a mess after Elvis left. He worked with me for a couple more hours with my article and gave me very useful information from his childhood up to the current time that would be useful to my story. While I kicked myself for letting him help with the article and he found out about his future, he still helped a lot. And from helping, he had a massive epiphany, one that would change his life. This was probably something that all Elvis fans wished happened after he passed.
What did I just do to history?
I stared at the mess of papers, far more than what I started with since Elvis wrote me dozens of notes. They were all separated into years instead into decades. I would spend the rest of the day working on this and putting everything together. I got started and took a few blank pieces of paper and started writing the actual article. As I was doing so, I recalled what Elvis asked of me before he left...
"Make sure you let me read that when it's all done," he had said at the door.
"Okay, I can do that."
"How 'bout you let me read it this Saturday when I have a party at my place?"
My brows rose. "You mean, in three days? I won't have much."
"Yeah, I know. I just wanna read what you have so far."
"It will most likely be just about your childhood. This is going to be a several-page essay on your life."
He smirked in his way, and I tried not to focus too much on it. "Well, if I'm around in your time, then I'll read it then, okay?"
I honestly could only hope that he would be around in my time, even if he was an old man nearing ninety. It would be really interesting to talk to him about what happened when a strange woman from the future came into his life in 1965, acted with him in one of his films, and he told her that he would break up with the other woman in his life in order to be with her.
"I guess we'll see what you do with the information that you know now," I said, and he only nodded. He had an information overload regarding what could happen to him in his later life. "Well, I'll see you when I see you."
"Yes. And I hope it's soon. Take care, okay?"
"You, too."
He turned, and I shut the door behind him. My thoughts came back to the present as I continued writing. I needed something to show him in three days. Sometimes I had to do that—show my subject the piece before I print it. It was a bit annoying, especially when they wanted to read it as I was working on it, and I constantly had to send them what I had every day.
I wrote on, the fact that he would read my words constantly on my mind.
~ ~ ~
Elvis was known for having parties with at least a dozen people. Throughout the 60s, this was so, and I was about to experience it, along with Mary Ann. We both were done up in elegant 60s dresses, and Mary Ann insisted on straightening my hair with a clothing iron. It was quite the experience.
"I'm sorry again, that I burned your scalp," she said with apologetic eyes. "I'm only used to doing it to my own hair, not someone else's."
"I already told you, it's okay. I'm just glad that I was able to experience it for the first time. My whole time here is full of firsts."
"Including your writing subject falling madly in love with you?" she asked with a sly side glance as we walked down the sidewalk to Elvis's rented LA home.
"Let's not talk about that right now."
"It's going to come up since you have to show him what you have so far of his story. Maybe you can talk to him about his ancestry. That would be a good thing to add—his heritage."
"Yes, I agree. Maybe I'll ask for another interview while I'm there."
"No doubt that he will be more than happy to spend some alone time with you like when you two were working on the story the other day. Goodness, what woman would give to be alone with Elvis Presley?"
She bumped my arm, and I scoffed. "Psht. I'm not a pushover like other women. I'm not going to get involved with a womanizer like him who supposedly slept with a lot of women later in his life. No, thank you."
"I doubt he slept with or is going to sleep with a bunch of women. He's a gentleman."
"Even if he didn't or doesn't, I wouldn't want to go there with him."
"But you're in love with him, too. You're just playing hard-to-get."
I really didn't want to be talking about this anymore. I adjusted my red dress that hugged me and was to the knee. Mary Ann had called me a cherry bombshell. She wore an elegant black dress. "Let's just get to this party, and I can do my thing. I mainly agreed since I have to write the rest of the story."
"A work activity."
"Exactly."
The street was crowded with 60s cars. That was one of the reasons why we had to park down the road. People were walking into the gated property, and both of us were being eyed, mainly by the men, and the women with them had to yank their arm so they weren't looking at us.
"I think we're quite the duo," Mary Ann commented. "Too bad for these men since I'm in love with another actor."
"And he has no idea. Seriously, you need to find that man and tell him how you feel. You two could be married by the end of the year."
She put a hand to her cheek as it turned pink. "Oh, goodness, married... I don't know about that. But how wonderful that would be!"
Really, she just had an insane crush on that man. Knowing how kind, beautiful and personable Mary Ann was, he was probably already head over heels for her.
"Oh, wow..." I muttered as we came up to the gate and saw the house that was lighted from the inside. It was around ten o'clock at night, so the lights could be easily seen in the darkness, as well as the people inside. It was a grand two-story. Elvis was Elvis, after all, with an elaborate house, even if it was a second home.
"I know!" Mary Ann gushed. "C'mon."
She hooked my arm with hers, and we headed on into the property. Once inside this house, I instantly felt the party atmosphere. People were around chatting and dancing to a radio, creating a ruckus, and they were drinking. But it wasn't red cups they were holding, they were bottles of coke. "Strange."
"What?" asked Mary Ann as the people around took sight of us and stared.
"Nobody's drinking."
"Elvis hates to drink alcohol, so no one at his parties drinks it for his sake."
That was a good mental note. "Why do you think that is?"
"I think it has to do with his mother. The story is, his mother drank herself to death worrying about him while he was in the army. She had a problem with it years before, but it became serious after he left."
"Drinking reminded him of his mother."
"Yes. And they were so very close, the poor man. It nearly drove him insane after she passed." She pointed. "Ooo! Let's go get some of those delicious-looking snacks."
We made our way to a table full of refreshments of pastries, fruits and veggies, hamburger sliders, and a variety of desserts.
Well, now I had a good idea of why people say he went downhill in the 60s—he lost his mother just before the decade started. And because he was so close to her, it hit him extremely hard. It could drive anyone off the deep end. Would he be where he was, and who he was, if his mother was still alive?
As Mary Ann was picking out snacks for herself, I spotted Elvis in the other room. This house screamed 60s with the sofas and other furniture, and it was rather large with a living room, den, piano room and maybe a kitchen and dining room through the den. There was also a staircase that faced people when they walked into the house.
"Hey, Mary Ann, I spot Elvis. I'm gonna go talk to him and maybe snag him for a chat."
"Okidoki," she said. "I'll be out here."
"Okay."
I left her as she started talking to another woman at the party. I wove through the people and came into the den, my gaze on Elvis as he wore a dress shirt the same color as my dress, and black slacks with shiny black shoes. His hair matched his shoes since it was black and very shiny in the lighting.
He looked hot. Very hot. How irritating that was. He was so tall and lean, and those slacks looked very good on him and showed what an attractive backside he had. "Holy cow..." I muttered, staring.
Someone stepped into my view of Elvis—a young man who looked me up and down suggestively. His sleazy smile was an immediate turn-off.
"Hey, there," he said. "Wow, you're the most beautiful woman at this party."
"Uh-huh," I said, not giving into his flirtation. "How many times have you said that to the girls here tonight, huh?"
He didn't answer, and someone came into the picture before he could. "I think he has a point, though," he said, his lips quirked up into that smirk.
"Hello, Elvis," I greeted him, and he looked at the other guy.
"Go and grab a hamburger slider, huh?" he said to him, and Elvis gave him a "you better leave" look. The guy left, and I had to snicker.
"Nicely done. Now, I'm not going to beat around the bush here. I need to talk to you." That smile of his turned suggestive. I had to set him straight. "I have the article with me. You wanted to read what I have so far, remember?"
That smile of his remained. "Ah, that's right. Well, let's get to that. Follow me."
He passed me, and I had to weave through the crowd in the living room in order to follow the star who was being stopped to say hi and patted on the shoulder. Memphis Mafia member and best friend of Elvis, Jerry, was one of those people. I greeted him as I saw Elvis step up the stairs.
"See you later, Jerry," I told him, and I headed on up. I came into the hallway up there and looked around. Where did that celebrity go? I walked down the hallway and opened the first door and came into a room that had a sitting area with blue sofas, and there was a antennae box TV against the wall, facing the sofas. A guitar sat on the sofa facing the TV. A sitting room? Posters of various 40s and 50s artists were on the wall as well.
"You wanna talk in in here?" I heard behind me, and I turned to see him in the doorway.
"Where else were you planning?"
"My bedroom, but this works, too."
My heart jumped up to my throat. He wanted to take me to his bedroom?! "Yeah, let's talk in here. How come no one's upstairs?"
"Because I don't want 'em to come up here."
So, he was a private person. That was another mental note.
He walked into the room and sat on the sofa facing the TV and took up the guitar and started stumming it. He looked over at me and stared as I saw his eyes move up and down my body. I really tried to not let the heat on my neck escape into my face at his staring.
"You look remarkably beautiful. I like that we match."
Something tickled my nerves at his complement. "It wasn't intentional." I came and sat with him on the sofa, and I was glad that there was a shiny black guitar separating us. "So..." I took my black purse that was slung over my shoulder and pulled out a couple of papers. I extended them to him. "Here's what I have so far." Unfortunately, he set his guitar aside on the coffee table, and he took my papers. There was nothing separating us now, and his cologne was making my heart beat faster. "Let me know what you think."
He didn't say anything, he just leaned back in the sofa and started reading. I saw his eyes move as he read. It was always unnerving when the subject read my writing in front of me. I sat there and waited, and... admittedly... I liked the view.
He snickered at something I wrote. Did I add anything funny? I didn't think that I did.
About ten minutes later, he put the papers down on his lap and sat up and faced me. He gave me the papers. "It's good."
I took them. "It's good? That's it?"
He shrugged. "I was with ya while we discussed my childhood, so I know all the information's correct, and I liked how you put it all into one category and wrote it all out in a descriptive essay."
"Okay, well... let me ask you this... What's you're ancestry? I think that would be wise to put in."
He nodded. "I think so, too. I come from mostly European ancestry, but there's some Native American on my momma's side. Her granddaddy was full Native American."
My brows rose at that. "Wow, that's interesting." I pulled out a pen from my notes and wrote that on the front paper. "Looking at you now, people could guess that because of your fake dark hair, but your high cheekbones don't lie. That's definitely a Native American trait."
"That's what I've been told by my momma. I got a lot of my physical characteristics from my daddy, but both my parents think the cheekbones are from my great-granddaddy. It was pretty swell playin' a Native American for my film Flaming Star. I had to play a guy who was half-Indian, half-white. I had dark eyes for that role."
I wrote rapidly as he spoke. "They gave you contacts?"
"Yeah. I hated 'em since they bugged my eyes."
I wrote some more. "I see."
He scooted closer to me and saw my scribbles on my paper. I looked up at him as I saw his brows creased. "You writin' an alien language or somethin'?"
"That's my shorthand. I learned to master it. If anyone were to read my notes, they would have no idea what it says. It's beneficial since some reporters like to steal other's notes."
"A colleague stole your notes before?"
"Once. But they couldn't read them because I wrote them in shorthand."
"Smart." I still wrote, but his gaze wasn't on my notes. I looked up and met his gaze, and I couldn't believe how blue his eyes were in this lighting. "You're so damn beautiful, Rebecca," he said in a low tone, and my pulse rose. Him adding that swear word in there was... really hot. I looked back down at my notes and wrote random shorthand just so I wouldn't have to look at him.
"I only wanted you to read this and maybe get some more information out of you, nothing else," I told him.
He remained silent for a moment, then, "I did what I said I was gonna do."
"And what's that?"
"I broke up with those women."
I looked up at him this time, my brown eyes wide. "Elvis, are you nuts? I told you that you marry one of those women. She even expected it."
He nodded. "And that's what she told me, but... Look. I wanted to tie up all loose ends as far as women are concerned. I promise I won't look at another woman again if you agree to start somethin' with me."
"Psht, like that's going to happen. You love women, Elvis, and they love you. You're incapable of having just one woman in your life."
"Thanks for the confidence," he said sarcastically and dryly.
"It's as I said before—I don't trust you."
"Is that you admittin' you wanna start somethin', but the only thing stoppin' ya is the possibility that I'll go behind your back?"
"According to what I've heard, it's your specialty to cheat. I'm not going to live through another lover cheating on me."
"I thought you just broke your engagement."
"It was both. He hated that I worked so much and didn't have time for him, so he found solace with another woman. Well, it's not going to happen again. You say that you're not going to look at any other women, but yeah, right. Like I can believe that. Now, I'm going to take my leave."
I folded my article and put it back into my purse, and I about got up to leave him, but he took my arm and kept me sitting. "What if I promise ya, huh? I never back down on a promise."
His blue eyes were pleading with me, and again, it was hot, that he wanted me this much. My mind was reeling with what to say to him. "I don't want to take the chance. Plus, you know I may not be here that long."
"What if you are?"
"Then that's how it is. But I'm not going to start dating a womanizer. That's that. Now let me go."
He stared at me for a moment as his warm hand gripped my arm, then, "You remember the song 'Kismet' from the film we're workin' on?"
That was random. "Yeah, why?"
He let go of my arm. "Let me sing it to ya."
I huffed through my nose as he took his guitar and held it in his arms. "If you think you can change my mind with that voice of yours, you're sadly mistaken."
"I just wanna sing to ya. Personally. Then you can leave, go back to Mary Ann's and work on that story some more."
"And you won't bother me after that?"
"I can't make any promises there. A man always wants to talk to the women he's in love with."
He said it—those three words. "You're not in love with me, Elvis, you're infatuated and a bit obsessed."
"Would I have broken up with other women if I wasn't serious? Plus, I know you're in love with me, too, you just don't wanna show it or say it."
"And you think singing me a song will change that?"
One eyebrow quirked up, and hope etched his eyes. "You're admittin' that you're in love with me, too?"
He was so infuriating! But... he was right. "Just sing so I can leave."
He made his cute little smirk and started playing the guitar, and then he started singing.
Now I knew what he was trying to tell me here. The realization washed over me in waves as he sang each word of the song in that soothing, melodious deep voice. It was a softer version of what he sang on the set, and it took over my heart.
He stopped singing, and when he did, he rose his hand and rubbed my cheek with his thumb, and I realized that he was doing that because tears were leaking from my eyes.
"It was no accident that you came here, you know," he said softly. I only nodded, and he put his guitar aside and sat close to me. I looked down, embarrassed, but he just brought my head back up so our gazes met. He leaned in, and I found his lips on mine.
I didn't move or push him away. I kissed him back, and suddenly, he had his arms wrapped around me. His hands tangled in my long, straight brown hair, and my hands took handfuls of his red shirt material at his waist. His soft, luscious and delicious lips moved with mine, and my brain couldn't think of anything else, other than the desire to kiss him more and feel our teeth clank together and tongues touch... as well as his hand lowering on my waist...
My heart and head pounded, my whole body felt heated, and I felt pleasurable tingles in certain places. That was the alarm. I unhooked my mouth from the lip-lock. I covered my mouth with my hand, got up, and left the room. I escaped out the front door to the house, and Mary Ann wasn't far behind me, demanding what was going on.
Well, I just gave in and showed my feelings, and the man I was in love with but didn't want to be involved with knew it.