“What’s wrong, Rose?” Ma asked. She sat propped against the headboard, a book in her hands.
I stood there, panting. “I just heard two men arguing. I think one might have been that Ron guy we met earlier. They sounded really angry. I ran into Elvis. Literally. And I saw a guy’s penis.”
“Well, you’ve had quite a night. How was the penis? Anything to write home about?”
Roxy walked out of the bathroom wearing Hello Kitty pajamas. “Forget about a shower. The water’s freezing. Why didn’t you bring me a Coke?”
FOUR
Bleary-eyed, we met outside our rooms the next morning. While that was Joe’s default mode, Roxy could barely keep her eyes open. Even Axton was dragging.
“The guy in the next room kept singing Love Me Tender,” he said. “All night long. He wouldn’t shut up.”
“Ma’s snoring was off the charts,” I whispered. “Like a three hundred pound truck driver with a deviated septum. I didn’t sleep at all.” Even pressing the pillow to my ears brought no relief. “You know that guy we met in the hotel last night, Ron? I think I overheard him having a wicked argument. Like death threats and crap.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised by anything in this gross hellhole. And you know I’m not that picky,” he said.
I did know. He managed to live with Stoner Joe after all.
Ma, on the other hand, was fresh and eager to start the day. “I’m so excited, kids. Graceland. We’ll walk where the king himself trod.”
We took the shaky elevator to the lobby where impersonators stood in small clusters, chatting and laughing—a few sang Christmas carols near the sad tree. Roxy wore a rose print dress with a kimono bodice. She teamed it with knee-high pink platform boots. Normally she was an attention grabber, but in a lobby filled with Elvi and drag queens, she barely got a second glance.
She and the boys stepped outside, while I waited for Ma. She marched up to the counter to demand satisfaction about the hot water situation.
That tall, handsome Elvis I’d run into the night before moved from one group to the other, chatting and back-slapping. When he spotted me, he sauntered my way. “How are you this morning? Are you traumatized by the encounter with little Elvis?”
“Barely. But I have seen one before, you know.”
“Is that right?” He chuckled. “There are some pretty crazy characters around here. I thought I heard some yelling in the stairwell last night. What was that all about?”
“Yeah, they sounded pretty intense.”
“What were they fighting about, anyway?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” I said. “There were some threats made. I don’t know the particulars.”
“What kind of threats?” He sounded casual, but his hands clenched his wide belt so tightly, his knuckles whitened. I started to get that feeling, the one I have when someone’s dealing me a load of bullshit. And he was very inquisitive for a simple impersonator.
“Why do you care?” I asked. “Do you know them?”
“What? No,” he said with a little laugh. “Just curious.” He tipped his head. “Have a good day, now.”
Ma walked to where I stood, staring over her shoulder at the mystery man. “Who was that, Rose?”
“I bumped into him last night.” I didn’t think he’d been standing in the hallway by accident. But he wasn’t my business. This motel was full of weirdoes, he was probably just one more banana in the bunch. I dropped him from my mind.
We met up with the others just outside the front door. As we made our way to the car, I turned to Ma. “What’s your connection to Elvis anyway?”
“Yeah, what’s the story?” Roxy asked around a yawn. “You said he had a place in your heart.”
Ma slowed and let Ax and Stoner Joe get further ahead of us. “I’ve never told anyone this, but in the sixties, after Elvis had his big comeback, I went to see him in concert with my girlfriend, Maureen.”
“The one who just had her knee replaced?” I asked.
“Yep, that’s her. Anyway, we were sitting in the seventh row and some of Elvis’ entourage scouted the audience, looking for girls to go backstage. They picked me.” She tapped her chest. “I knew it wasn’t just about meeting the king and getting an autograph, so I didn’t go. I loved my husband, Frank, with every bone in my body, but I always wondered about it. What would have happened if I’d gone backstage? It would have been a night to remember.”
Ma handed me the car keys and we climbed into the LeSabre. Before heading to Graceland, we grabbed breakfast at a fast food place along the way. At the visitor center, Ma paid for the VIP tour, which meant we got to line jump.
Outside the mansion, a nativity scene stood in the front yard. Christmas lights outlined the exterior and inside, poinsettias framed each step of the stairway.
Apparently, Elvis loved Christmas. Decorated trees, brightly wrapped packages, and stuffed animals in Santa hats filled the rooms.
Completely entranced, Ma oohed and ahhed, snapping her camera at every detail. She was particularly fascinated with the jungle room and its stone wall waterfall.
But we spent most of our time in the trophy room ogling the gold and platinum records, the plethora of costumes. There were probably close to fifty people meandering about. Cameras and phones shuttered almost nonstop. Ma had me clicking away as she and Roxy posed next to every jumpsuit.
Axton and Stoner Joe found us thirty minutes later. “Joe’s getting hungry. It’s time for lunch,” Ax said.
Joe stood with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his ripped jeans. “Lunch. For real, dude.”
Ma shook her head. “If you think we’re getting out of here before seeing everything, you’re crazier than you look, hon.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of granola bars, doling them out to each of us. “Here. This should tide you over.”
Joe ripped open the package with his teeth and shoved the whole bar in his mouth. A docent immediately jogged over.
“Sir, there’s no food or beverage in the trophy room.”
With his cheeks stuffed fuller than a squirrel’s in fall, Joe nodded and thrust the wrapper at the man. “No problem, amigo.” At least that’s what I thought he said. He may have called the man a Winnebago—no telling with Joe.
The docent scrunched his nose, as Joe wandered off. “Your friend is…interesting,”
Axton nodded. “Yeah, he gets that a lot.”
Roxy and Ma went one way, while Ax and I wandered through a corridor where he pointed out a movie poster. “Spinout. That was my favorite. Nanny Bird liked Girls! Girls! Girls!”
“What was so great about Spinout?” I asked.
“Elvis drove a racecar and sang in a band. He was total chick bait.”
Ax broke down the various film plots for me. Mostly, Elvis was a cool cat, did cool stuff, got the cute girl, and sang about it. Just in different scenarios—crop duster, rodeo rider, photographer—but the gist was basically the same.
Eventually, we met up again and wound our way to the Meditation Garden where Elvis was buried alongside his parents. Ma pulled a wadded tissue from her jacket pocket and sniffed into it. Axton blinked several times and turned his back on us, staring out over the rolling hills of the property.
We left the mansion in a somber mood, but once we were back at the visitor’s center, Joe’s empty stomach made these weird, mournful noises and broke the tension. So in deference to his severe munchies, we stopped at a fifties style diner for lunch.
“We’re eating at a diner? Really?” Roxy asked, smacking her gum. “We couldn’t shake things up a little?”
“Hush, hon, this is fun. And I don’t have to serve for a change,” Ma said. “I’m getting something fried. To hell with watching my cholesterol. If the doctor doesn’t like it, he can kiss my wrinkly rump.”
<
br /> I tried in vain to keep that mental image from entering my brain.
When my phone vibrated, I glanced down at the screen. Sullivan. “Order me a cheeseburger, guys. I’m going to take this outside.”
Roxy smirked. “Must be Mr. Hottie.”
I rolled my eyes and hustled out the door onto the sun-drenched sidewalk. The diner was busy, so I stood with my back against the building as people flowed past me.
I hit the talk button. “Hello?”
“How’s Memphis?” Sullivan. Just hearing his deep, rich voice resonated with something inside me, making me tingle just a smidge.
“It’s a trip. Axton invited Stoner Joe to tag along, the hotel lost our reservation, and we’re staying in a shithole of a motel filled with Elvis impersonators and an Ann-Margret drag queen.”
There was a very long pause. “Of course you are. You’ll be home by Christmas?”
I pictured him sprawled out in the middle of a bed next to a roaring fire, the flames flickering warm light across his honeyed skin. In my imagination, he wore a Santa hat and little else. “You bet.”
“Good.” Then he hung up. Yeah, he did that, too. And it annoyed the ever loving crap out of me. How hard was it to say goodbye?
We spent the rest of the afternoon looking at Elvis stuff: planes, cars, trinkets. It was in the gift shop that Ma saw Ron, the cape guy from the night before. He wore normal clothes today and he greeted her like an old friend.
“Ma!”
“Ron, where’s your cape? You looked pretty snazzy in that thing.”
“I’m saving it for the show. Did you get a room at the Heartache?”
“We sure did,” she said with a frown. “I’ve got to tell you, it was kind of a letdown. There’s a bullet hole in our wall and men are flashing their privates in the hallway.”
Ron nodded. “It’s got character all right. You’re going to be in the bar tonight, right? Watch my performance?” He swung his arm in an arc and executed a couple hip thrusts.
“We’ll be there, won’t we gang?” Ma asked.
Roxy, Ax, and I mumbled. We clearly didn’t share her level of enthusiasm.
Ron said goodbye and walked out of the store. I couldn’t stop myself from trotting after him. His life was none of my concern, but that argument last night sounded pretty serious. For some reason, I was worried about him. He seemed like a decent guy.
“Hey, Ron,” I said.
He stopped and turned toward me, smiling brightly and squinting against the sun. “Hey, I never caught your name.” He dug around in his pocket, pulling out his car keys and a familiar pink key fob Sharpied with the number four-oh-four.
“I’m Rose. Look, I overheard you arguing with some other guy in the stairwell last night.”
His smile disappeared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His words didn’t reassure me, instead they convinced me I was right. Ron had been threatened.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. That fight—it got pretty heated.”
“Rose,” he patted my shoulder, “you seem like a nice girl. But stay out of my business. It’s for your own good.”
Well, that put me in my place. He spun and strode away. I went back inside and tried to put him from my mind as I shopped for Elvis key chains.
FIVE
On the way back to the motel, Roxy and I tried to talk Ma into staying somewhere else for the night, but she wasn’t having it.
“We can’t change now. We promised Ron we’d watch his performance.”
My eyes met Roxy’s in the rearview mirror. She rolled hers and sighed.
In the motel lobby, a quorum of impersonators had gathered around the Christmas tree. They all shimmied in their jumpsuits and had bad hair, but other than that they were as different as a UN coalition. African American, Middle Eastern, Female, and two Asian Elvises. In what could no way be described as harmonious, they belted out In the Ghetto.
I waved my peeps onward and strode to the abandoned front desk. I hit the bell and waited.
This time, a drag queen nun stepped out of the back room. “What do you need, honey?”
I thought about it for a second, then finally just asked. “A nun? What’s that about?”
She wasn’t as tall as Man-Margret, but she was every bit as spectacular, although not very nun-like in fabulous makeup and long red nails. “I’m Mary Tyler Moore. From Change of Habit?”
I shook my head. “Never saw it.”
She reached out and patted my arm. I noticed she wore the same charm bracelet as the clerk from the night before. Maybe it was standard issue.
“Change of Habit is Elvis’ last movie and it’s a treasure. He’s a doctor and Mary is a nun in plain clothes. You should rent it.”
“I just might. For right now, I need a few towels.”
After a quick—and icy—shower, I met the others in the hallway. We were headed to the Suspicious Minds bar. Roxy had her heart set on a Rock-a-hula cocktail and Ma couldn’t wait to see the impersonators.
Once we stepped off the elevator, Ax pulled me aside. “I think someone was in my room earlier.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d left my dirty clothes wadded up next to the bed, jeans at the bottom of the heap. When I got back, they were on top of everything else.”
“Maybe the maid looked in your pockets?”
“Maid? If a maid came by, she didn’t do anything other than rummage through my stuff. Joe sparked up last night. In order not to set off the fire alarm, he rolled a wet towel beneath the crack in the bathroom door. It was still on the floor when I got back and the beds weren’t made.” He rubbed at the patchy scruff on his jaw. “What do you think? Was someone, like, searching the room?”
We slowly walked into the bar, trailing behind the others. “Probably. Look around. Do you think all of these people are upstanding citizens?” The bar was teeming with Elvi, drag queens, and five grizzled men with mushroom-colored skin perched on barstools. “Roxy said the door handles are easy to jimmy. Anyone could have sneaked into your room.”
“Glad I always carry my crap with me.” He patted the shoulder strap of his backpack.
I nodded. “So, what do you think? Who’s the most real Elvis here?”
Ax nodded at a man wearing nothing but a pair of cowboy boots, an orange speedo, and a pair of gold sunglasses. “That dude’s, like, beyond. I hope he wins for sure.”
We wound our way through the crowd to where Ma, Roxy, and Stoner Joe sat. They all sipped from tiki glasses and wore plastic leis.
Ma held up her drink. “You want one?”
Ax nodded, but I declined.
Roxy leaned against me. “This drink is potent. Don’t know what they stick in here, but I’m feeling it. And it feels fine.” She snorted a laugh.
Getting my buzz on sounded good in theory, but in this craptacular motel, I figured one of us needed to stay vigilant. I caught myself scanning the room, skimming the pinball players and barflies, searching for Ron, but he wasn’t there.
Then a stunningly beautiful drag queen stepped onto a platform so tiny, she could barely take four steps in one direction before hitting the edge. Her pale pink dress cinched in at the waist and flared outward, held in place by layers of tulle. Her mile-high brunette beehive wobbled a bit as she pranced back and forth, microphone in hand.
“Hello, all you beautiful people. I’m Shelley Fabulous Fabares. And tonight we’re here to judge for ourselves who’s worthy of claiming the king’s crown.”
Woots and catcalls drowned her out. She waited a beat and stroked the length of the blue chiffon scarf she wore as a belt.
“Who can shake it and who can’t make it.” More cheers from the audience. Then in a very suggestive move, while biting her glossy lower lip, she shoved a ha
nd into her bodice and removed a folded sheet of paper from her bra. The place erupted. “Sorry, darlings, that’s a restricted zone.” After unfolding the paper, she glanced at it. “Our first victim is Elvis Ron Michaels. Where are you, honey?” She held a hand over her brow and scoured the crowd.
There was no sign of him. “Ron?” she called.
“Where is he?” Ma asked. “He was so excited about this contest. He’s missing his big moment.”
I had a very bad feeling. “I know what room he’s in. I’ll go see if he’s okay. You stay here, Ma, and enjoy the show.”
“I’ll go with you,” Roxy said. “The bathrooms are too crowded and that drink is starting to kick my bladder’s ass. We can stop by our room on the way.”
“Since Elvis Ron is a no-show,” Shelley said from the stage, “I want all the Elvises up here. We’re going to narrow this down with a little Pelv-off. You in the Speedo, honey. Mama already likes you.” She crooked her finger at him.
“Be right back.” I stood from the table and squeezed through groups of people with Roxy on my heels.
We stepped out of the noisy bar and walked through the empty lobby side by side. At the elevator, I pushed the button and waited a full minute. I glanced at Rox. “Why don’t we just hit the stairs?”
“This place sucks. Have I mentioned?” She flung open the stairwell door and glanced over her shoulder. “And how do you know this guy’s room number? Does Sullivan need to be worried?”
“I saw Ron’s keychain this afternoon. Room four-oh-four.”
Roxy couldn’t take the steps at a jogging pace due to her platform boots, so I kept her company as we trekked upward. The once-white paint peeled in strips from the brick walls. It didn’t smell too great either.
“God, it reeks.” She covered her nose and mouth with one hand.
Glad to be free of the stairwell, we tromped down the hallway to Ron’s room. I pounded on the door.
Roxy shuffled from one foot to the other. “I really need to pee.”
Heartache Motel: Three Interconnected Mystery Novellas (Henery Press Mystery Novellas) Page 3