by Diane Moody
Diane Moody
Copyright © Diane Moody 2012
All rights reserved.
Published by
Cover design by OBT Graphix
Pink Cadillac cover image | © Len Green | Dreamstime.com
Guitar Parchment cover image | © Andrei Krauchuk | iStockphoto.com
Baptist Memorial Hospital image | Public Domain
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Though this is a work of fiction, many of the stories and anecdotes included were inspired by actual events that happened in the life of the author. Some names used in this book are those of real people; however any dialogue or activity presented is purely fictional.
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From Author Diane Moody
Of Windmills and War
The Runaway Pastor’s Wife
Blue Christmas
Blue Like Elvis
The Demise – A Mystery
Confessions of a Prayer Slacker
Tea with Emma
The Teacup Novellas (Book One)
Strike the Match
The Teacup Novellas (Book Two)
Home to Walnut Creek
The Teacup Novellas (Book Three)
At Legend’s End
The Teacup Novellas (Book Four)
The Christmas Peril
The Teacup Novellas (Book Five)
The Teacup Novellas – The Collection
(All five Teacup Novellas)
Hale Hale the Gang’s All Here
A Family Cookbook
A Christmas Bundle of 3
Two Blue Novels
From Author McMillian Moody
Ordained Irreverence
Elmo Jenkins (Book One)
Some Things Never Change
Elmo Jenkins (Book Two)
The Old Man and the Tea
Elmo Jenkins (Book Three)
A Tale of Two Elmos
Elmo Jenkins (Book Four)
The Elmo Jenkins Trilogy
(The first three novels s in one volume)
Also available in paperback
The Elmo Jenkins Red Boxed Set
(Includes all four novels)
Evicting Erlene
An Elmo Jenkins Novelette
Hangin’ with Father Ted
An Elmo Jenkins Novelette
Tempting Harry
An Elmo Jenkins Novelette
Guarding Eddie
An Elmo Jenkins Novelette
The Elmo Jenkins Novelettes
All four novelettes in one volume
(Also available in paperback)
For your reading pleasure we’ve included the prologue and first chapter of Diane Moody’s latest novel, The Demise – A Mystery after the Author Page at the end of this book.
To Memphis
my hospital,
my co-workers,
my church,
my friends . . .
Thanks for the memories.
An Important Message from the Author
Writing Blue Like Elvis has been such a ride down memory lane for me. The story evolved out of my own experience serving as a Hostess/Patient Representative at Baptist Memorial Hospital in Memphis in the late ‘70s. The grand building that once filled a block between Madison and Union Avenues no longer stands. The hospital moved out to the east part of Memphis many years ago, but my memories in that butterfly-shaped building will never be forgotten.
This was my first “real” job. I was thrilled when I was hired and proud to wear those classy uniforms as I served our patients at that great hospital. While our jobs were part of the BMH chaplain department, we primarily served in a public relations capacity, attending to the non-medical needs of patients and their families. You will learn more about some of those responsibilities throughout the chapters you’re about to read.
The majority of the characters in my book are fictional. Some are based loosely on those I worked with during my tenure there. But I could not write the story without keeping a handful of real people playing their own roles in the spring and summer of 1977. And as with Elvis, the words I put in their mouths are solely mine and completely fictional.
And for those who are die-hard Elvis fans, I ask a special favor. I have taken many creative liberties while writing my story. Some of the dates and events are accurate, but some I have chosen to change in order to flow more smoothly with my story line. I simply ask that you allow me those small “adjustments” here and there and accept them as nothing more than fictional license.
As I researched the last couple years of Elvis’s life, I must admit I became more of a fan than I’d ever been before. Elvis ignited a massive shift in the music culture of our world, one that is still recognized today. Whether watching concert footage on youtube, or listening to long play lists of his famous songs, or simply studying books written about his life and the events surrounding his death—all of these efforts helped me to better understand the exquisitely high price of fame.
I hope you enjoy reading Blue Like Elvis as much as I have enjoyed writing it.
~ Diane
Prologue
August 16, 1977
Memphis, Tennessee
Ask anyone who was there that day and they’ll tell you. The air literally crackled with electricity. As if a nearby transformer had blown and all of us could feel the hairs lift off our arms, our necks. The Union Avenue lobby of the hospital quickly filled as employees rushed to see for themselves. Their questions, hushed but urgent.
Is it true? Please tell me it’s not true!
Surely it’s just a rumor?
Elvis Presley . . . our Elvis . . . dead?!
Word had spread like a Tennessee wildfire throughout the hospital . . . an ambulance carrying the King of Rock ‘n Roll was racing through the streets of Memphis from Graceland to “his” hospital, flanked by police cars and motorcycle cops.
Elvis? Dead? How can that be?
I spotted Sandra immediately and rushed to her side. She grabbed my hand in a death-lock grip. We held our ground there by that expansive wall of windows overlooking the Emergency Room bay. I couldn’t breathe, and except for an occasional whisper or whimper, no one else seemed to be breathing either. Doctors, nurses, bookkeepers, administrators. Gift shop clerks, cafeteria workers, visitors. Even a patient or two—some in wheelchairs pushed by family members. And most of my own coworkers . . .
We all stood there. Waiting, hoping, praying.
We were Baptist Memorial Hospital. Elvis’s hospital. No, he didn’t own our wonderful institution, though he probably could have. But we were so used to his visits, with his entourage taking over part of Sixteen on the Union wing. We always loved when he came to stay, sometimes for a week or two or three at a time. No one had to announce his arrival. Then, like now, the electricity surged through every corridor on every floor.
Elvis is here! The King is in the house!
Only this time, as we waited for him to arrive, we were shrouded in silent grief, fearing the worst.
Don’t ask me why, but just then I looked up at the clock on the wall—2:56. Then flashing lights suddenly rounded the corner as a long line of emergency vehicles made the final stretch to the ER entry. As the ambulance rolled into sight, I felt a tear slip down my cheek, then another. I felt Sandra’s arm slip around my waist, pulling me closer. I felt someone else’s arm drape over
my shoulder. In moments, the girls were all around us, drawing closer as the crowd behind us pushed for a better view. I could hear Sandra’s whispered prayers in her native tongue. And then I caught a whiff of Mrs. Baker’s familiar cologne and heard her utter, “Oh, dear Lord . . .”
I knew it wasn’t possible, but at that precise moment, the whole scene seemed to slip into slow motion. The incessant flash of cameras created a surreal landscape of strange strobe-like movements as people rushed across the lawn below us toward the ER. The barrage of flashing red lights bounced off the medical building walls as the wailing sirens echoed in that valley of concrete and glass.
And then the sirens went silent . . . all of them, leaving an eerie, foreboding hush in their wake.
Oh God, please don’t let Elvis die . . .
Present Day
“Whoa. That must have been bizarre,” the young man said, his eyes glazed as if he too was lost in the same memory.
I blinked out of that long ago scene, surprised by the sound of his voice. I cleared my throat, reaching for my cup of hot tea. “Yes, well, it was a moment I’ll never forget.”
He reached for his bottled water. “I can’t even imagine.”
I crossed my legs, settling back against the throw pillow on my chintz-covered sofa. The early morning sun filtered through the plantation shutters, drawing a series of lines across the hardwood floor in my sun room. He’d arrived shortly after 7:30 coming straight from the airport, but I’d been up for hours. “Now, Mr. Carouthers―”
“Please, call me Chip. I insist.”
“Chip, then. Tell me again, why is it you need to know all this? Why would the memories of an almost sixty-year-old woman be of interest to you?”
“As I mentioned on the phone, I’ve recently been hired by South Palms Hospital in Pasadena, California as a public relations consultant for the hospital. I’ve been asked to find some new and innovative programs for our hospital. As I told you, I have family ties here in Memphis, and I remembered hearing about this patient representative program—your hostess program—when one of my uncles worked at Baptist. He was an obstetrician back in the day, and always talked so highly of this program. I know it’s no longer a part of the hospital, but I wanted to learn more about it with the intent of putting together a similar program for South Palms.”
“Did you know the original hospital structure is no longer standing?”
“Yes, ma’am. They razed it several years ago, according to my research.”
“I cried that day. We all did. It was like losing an old friend, watching that magnificent building go down into a heap of dust.”
“I watched the video of the demolition online.”
“Did you now,” I mused, imagining such a thing like watching a reel of special effects in a Spielberg movie. He had no idea what I’d experienced that day. Hearing the roar of the blast, the great cloud of dust filling the air, and then the quiet, somber silence when it was over. I looked up at him, a nice young man. Thirty, or so. Well groomed. Polite. Attentive. And hanging on my every word. “And how did you get my name?”
“My uncle is no longer living but my aunt remembered you from her church. Dorothy Carouthers. Do you remember her?”
“Oh, of course. She used to sing in the choir. Soprano, as I recall. Beautiful voice. We worked in the nursery together on occasion. Is she still living?”
“Yes, though she’s in a retirement facility in Germantown now. She isn’t able to get to church anymore, but she’s sharp as a tack. Which is how she remembered your name after all these years.”
“My goodness, it has been a long time. What—30, 35 years?”
“A long time,” he echoed.
A long time indeed. More than likely, he hadn’t even been born yet. “All right, so what exactly do you need to know?”
“I’m interested in the program. What you did, your responsibilities as a hostess/patient representative. Even the minutest detail. Everything. But I must say, after hearing what you just shared with me about the day Elvis died, I’d love to hear all your memories. Even those that might not specifically relate to your job. In other words, tell me everything. Tell me what it was like to be a part of that great hospital.”
I set my teacup and saucer back on the coffee table then took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “What was it like? Well, I suppose the best place to start is at the very beginning.” I paused, resting against the needlepoint pillows again as my mind drifted back to long forgotten memories.
“I can still smell the new upholstery in my brand new Cadillac Seville—a graduation gift from Daddy. Midnight Blue with a tan landau roof, tan leather seats, fully loaded. And Rick Dees on the radio that bright April morning . . .”
Chapter 1
April 5, 1977
The wild antics of the radio DJ made me smile as I took a left onto Poplar Avenue and started my first official commute downtown. I’d just moved into town over the weekend after landing my new job at Baptist Memorial Hospital. I was born here in Memphis but hadn’t lived here since I was ten. Strange how much you don’t remember about a place you lived that long; then again, I hadn’t even hit puberty when we moved. When Dad was offered the Cadillac dealership in Birmingham, off we went. Roll Tide roll.
So even though I’d written “Memphis” as my birthplace on hundreds of documents and forms over my 23 years, I really didn’t remember much of anything about this sprawling eclectic town on the banks of the Mississippi. Still, I was excited to be back. After all, my name is Shelby—as in Shelby County, Tennessee, home to Memphis.
Okay, wait. You should probably know my name isn’t really Shelby. It’s just what everyone calls me. My given name is Rayce Catherine Colter. Hence, the need for a nickname. I mean, we lived in the Deep South and my parents named me Rayce? To this day they swear the “race-related” similarity never crossed their minds, what with the unique spelling and all. But after a handful of unexpected encounters with my black kindergarten teacher, parents of my classmates, and even the nurse at our pediatrician’s office, Mom started calling me Shelby and it stuck. Dad preferred RC, my initials, which led to no end of taunting from my big brother Jimmy. But I’ll save those lovely tales for later.
I’d graduated from Samford University back in June of the previous year, but hadn’t found my dream job yet. Not that I have anything against Taco Barn or the photo desk at Walgreens, but I had this crazy notion that a college education would open doors for more than fast food or drug store establishments. My sociology degree had sufficiently equipped me with plenty of analytical reasoning for the socio-economic dynamics thriving in 1976, and yet the kind of job I yearned for had eluded me much longer than I’d hoped.
That was, until I made a trip up to Memphis to visit my former roommate from college. Rachel had married the summer before our senior year then moved to Memphis after we all graduated. Her husband Rich had been accepted into the UT Dental School here, and Rachel quickly secured a job at Baptist Hospital in the heart of the medical community near downtown Memphis. She was an accounting whiz, and apparently the world’s largest private hospital needed lots of help with all those numbers. Anyway, she loved her job and loved working at this renowned private hospital.
I’m sure you can see where this is going.
But let me back up and tell you the rest of my story. Rachel may have had ulterior motives that weekend she invited me to come up and visit, but the real reason I made the trek to west Tennessee that second week of March had nothing to do with employment.
“Rachel, I have to get out of here. I can’t handle this right now.”
“Is it your mom? Your dad? Who’s giving you trouble, Shelby?”
“No, they’re fine. They’re actually relieved I had a change of heart before the invitations went out. I mean, they dished out a boatload of money for everything, and naturally, we can’t get refunds on most of it. But they’re being so great about the financial stuff. I mean, they never really liked Will―”
; “Oh, sure they did.”
“No, Rachel. They pretended to like him because they didn’t want to disappoint me.”
Rachel was silent. Even without seeing her, I knew she was twirling a strand of her long blonde hair, her blue eyes staring off into space as she mulled over the entire doomed relationship in her mind. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Yeah, well, they didn’t fool me. And in my heart of hearts, I knew all their concerns were valid. While I found the whole notion of being a Navy wife extremely romantic, they knew I’d be miserable on my own in San Diego, so far from everyone I know and love.”
“Seems like I brought that up a time or two myself . . . that and the fact he had no interest in sharing your faith.”
“I know, I know. But no, it’s not Mom and Dad. It’s me. It’s Birmingham. It’s driving by the church where we were supposed to get married. It’s having to explain a thousand times a day why I’m not getting married.”
“I’m so sorry, Shelby. Hey, come see me! Throw your stuff in a bag, get in your car, and come stay with me for a few days. Rich is leaving for a seminar in Knoxville. He’ll be gone for a week. It’ll be great! I can take a few days off. We can talk, we can shop, we can get manicures—c’mon, say you’ll come!”
And so it was I headed to Memphis for a visit with my sweet friend. And we did, in fact, talk and shop and get manicures. We even shopped for some baby clothes, a first for me. Rachel was five months pregnant at that point with Cooper Christopher Bauer. She was the cutest pregnant thing you ever saw. Thankfully, she was past the morning sickness stage and positively glowing.