Jessie's Girl
by
Amanda Ashley
Jessie's Girl
Presented by Publishing by Rebecca J. Vickery
Copyright © 2011 Amanda Ashley
Cover Art Copyright © 2011 Laura Shinn
Produced by Rebecca J. Vickery
Design Consultation by Laura Shinn
Licensing Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this ebook without purchasing it and it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite online retailer and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Jessie's Girl is a work of fiction.
Though some actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person past, present, or future are coincidental except where historical figures are included.
Chapter 1
Las Vegas, Nevada
August, 2011
He called himself Jessie Garon Presley, and he was the most amazing Elvis look-a-like Kathy had ever seen. He had the same intense blue eyes, the same pouty lower lip, and he wore his thick black hair in the style Elvis had made famous back in the Fifties - sideburns and a ducktail. But instead of wearing the flashy, sequined jumpsuits Elvis had favored in his later years, Jessie wore a pair of slick black pants and a black silk shirt, open at the throat. A thick gold chain circled his neck. A gold ring with a diamond the size of a golf-ball winked on the middle finger of his right hand.
If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn he really was Elvis, but the King had died of a heart attack thirty-four years ago. Of course, there were those who insisted Elvis was still alive, but even if that was true, he would be in his seventies by now, and the man on the stage couldn’t be more than thirty-three, about the same age Elvis had been when he did his Comeback Special in ’68. It was her favorite concert video and she watched it over and over again. That, and Aloha From Hawaii.
Jessie Garon Presley did two shows a night at a new casino on the Strip. Kathy had wandered into the place her first night in town, seen his picture advertised in the lobby, and immediately bought a ticket for the first show. When it was over, she had hurried out and bought a ticket for the ten o’clock show, too. She had gone back every night for the last week, always staying for both shows.
She had always been an Elvis fan, probably because her mother had loved him so much. Kathy had scrapbooks full of pictures and newspaper articles, every record, every video, he had ever made. She had framed posters of the King on her walls, Elvis watches and beach towels, an Elvis telephone, Elvis trading cards and playing cards, Elvisopoly, The Rock-n-Roll Game of Fortune & Fame, Elvis collector plates and Elvis Barbie dolls, even a pair of Elvis socks her best friend had brought her from Graceland.
Kathy haunted antique stores and malls, looking for old magazines and newspapers, anything related to Elvis. If it had his name or his picture on it, she bought it. Her condo looked like a shrine. Her friends thought she was insane. But she wasn’t. Just in love. With a man who had died before she was born.
She leaned forward as Jessie began to sing Kentucky Rain. It was one of her favorite songs.
He walked slowly back and forth along the front of the stage, his voice filled with emotion as he sang of a man looking for his lost love.
The room was utterly still, save for the sound of his voice, low and intimate as it caressed the crowd.
He sang all her favorite songs: If I Can Dream, Heartbreak Hotel, I Want You, I Need You, I Love You, Little Sister, His Latest Flame, In The Ghetto, Crying in the Chapel, The Wonder of You, If I Can Dream. It was as if he had peeked into her head and found her favorite playlist.
Mesmerized, she gazed up at him, totally lost in the fantasy that he was really Elvis, that he would look out over the crowd and when his gaze met hers, he would walk down the stairs, sit at her table and sing to her, and her alone.
And even as the thought crossed her mind, it was happening.
He paused in the center of the stage, his gaze sweeping the crowd, settling on her face. Her heart skipped a beat as his gaze met hers; her pulse began to beat wildly as he descended the stairs.
The music changed and she recognized the strains of Can’t Help Falling In Love With You as he walked toward her. She could barely hear the music over the pounding of her heart.
No, she thought, this can’t be happening. Not to me.
But it was. He had eyes only for her as he sat in the empty chair across from her. Something hot and sweet, like honey warmed by the sun, flowed between them. The sensation danced across her skin, bringing every cell and nerve-ending to life, arousing all her senses.
The spotlight focused on her table, bathing the two of them in a pale pink spot. Kathy’s breath caught in her throat when he covered her hand with his.
Her mouth went dry, her heart beating a mile a minute as he sang to her. Only her. Stay, she thought frantically. Stay with me forever.
His hand squeezed hers. His eyes, those sleepy, sexy Elvis eyes, gazed deep into her own, penetrating her heart and soul.
This can’t be real, she thought. I must be dreaming.
His thumb made lazy circles on the back of her hand while he sang to her. His gaze never left hers. They might have been alone in the room, in the world. She wished the song would never end, wished the moment would last forever, but, all too soon, the song ended and the room filled with applause.
Lifting her hand, he brushed his lips across her knuckles. Kathy gasped. The touch of his lips seemed to sear her skin, its heat traveling up her arm and settling deep in her heart. He smiled at her, a roguish smile, as if he knew exactly what effect he was having on her, and then he rose smoothly to his feet and sauntered back up on stage.
Memories was his closing number. It was her all-time favorite song. Hearing it always made her cry. Tonight was no exception. Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks as she gazed up at him, hoping he knew somehow that she would never forget this night. Never forget him.
He looked down at her from the stage as he sang, and she knew this night would be her most cherished memory of all.
Kathy stood with everyone else, applauding wildly as he left the stage. Hating to see the night end, she stayed until the familiar “Elvis has left the building,” announcement came over the loudspeakers.
With a sigh, she left the theater. If only she could stay one more night, see one more show, but her flight left tomorrow afternoon at four, and Jessie never did matinees, not even on weekends.
The casino adjoining the theater was filled with noise – laughter, music, the sound of the roulette wheel, the rattle and whir of a thousand slot machines, the slap of cards at the Blackjack table, a squeal as someone won a jackpot.
She wasn’t much of a gambler, but it was her last night. What could it hurt to try her luck?
She exchanged a twenty dollar bill for twenty dollars in quarters, then found an old slot machine that still accepted coins. If she was going to play the slots, she wanted to play the kind of slots that Elvis would have played, not the new-fangled ones that accepted credits instead of cash.
Finding an unoccupied machine, she sat down and broke open the first roll of quarters. “Here goes,” she muttered, and fed three coins into the machine.
There was a strange excitement in watching the wheels go round and round, a sense of anticipation as she waited for them to
come to a stop and tell her if she had won or lost.
Three bars!
“I won!” she exclaimed as the coin tray filled with quarters. “I won,” she repeated, and wished she had someone to share her excitement.
A low, throaty chuckle sounded from behind her. Startled, she glanced over her shoulder, felt her eyes widen with surprise when she saw Jessie Garon Presley standing at her elbow.
“I won,” she murmured, unable to think of anything else to say.
Smiling a slow sexy smile, he drawled, “Honey, tonight you can’t lose.”
Chapter 2
Kathy couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. She could only stare up at him. He wore a deep blue jacket over his black shirt. The color made his blue eyes look deeper, darker, more mysterious. She could dive into those eyes, she thought, and never come up.
He laughed softly, making her wonder if he had somehow divined her thoughts.
“You all right, darlin’?” he asked with a wry grin.
She nodded, thinking that he looked exactly the way Elvis had in Blue Hawaii. A lock of black hair fell across his forehead, making her fingers itch to reach up and brush it back.
He nodded at the slot machine. “Mind if I watch?”
She tried to speak, but couldn’t seem to get the words past her throat.
Apparently taking her silence for assent, he sat down on the stool beside hers.
Feeling shaky inside, Kathy put several quarters in the machine and pulled the handle.
Three bars. A winner again.
“I seem to have brought you luck,” Jessie remarked.
“Yes.” Finally, she managed to get a word out.
He smiled. “You’ve been at every one of my shows this past week.”
She nodded, suddenly self-conscious. He probably thought she was some sort of weirdo groupie incapable of speaking coherently. Maybe he was right.
“Why?”
“Why?” She shrugged, thinking the answer should be obvious. “I like the show.”
He laughed, soft and sexy. “Big Elvis fan, were you?”
“Oh, yes. He was so wonderful.”
Sadness shadowed his eyes, then was gone. “Lots of people thought so.”
“You sound just like him. Look just like him.”
“You mean before he got old and fat and made a fool of himself?”
Kathy looked up at him, startled by the underlying bitterness in his voice. “I never thought of him as old and fat. He was always wonderful. And his voice…” She shook her head. “I loved to hear him sing. Even now, when I watch one of his old movies, I find myself smiling. It was a rare gift he had, to make people feel good.”
He jerked his chin toward the machine. “Are you gonna try your luck again?”
“What? Oh, yes, I guess so.”
She fed three quarters into the machine, listened to the whir of the wheels. Seven.
Seven.
Seven.
She stared at the slot machine, unable to believe her eyes and ears as the one-armed bandit suddenly went wild, bright lights flashing and sirens screaming. Quarters poured out of the machine in a river of silver.
She had hit the jackpot. Ten thousand dollars.
She looked at Jessie and laughed. Before tonight, the only thing she had ever won was a stuffed rabbit at a school carnival when she was six.
The people standing nearby gathered around. A man toasted her good fortune, a woman touched her arm “for luck”. A rather somber-faced man from the casino approached to tell her that the balance of her winnings would be waiting for her when she was ready to pick it up, along with some tax forms that had to be filled out.
A waitress came by with free drinks. Kathy accepted a glass of champagne, but Jesse declined.
“I guess you really did bring me luck,” Kathy said when the excitement died down and everyone else had moved away.
“Glad to do it, darlin’.”
His voice moved through her like thick honey, warm and sweet. No one had ever called her darlin’ before.
She had once read a description of what Elvis’ dream girl was supposed to look like: twenty years old, about five feet four inches tall, 34-24-34, brown hair, brown eyes. She fit that description to a T. She wondered fleetingly what Jessie’s ideal girl looked like.
He stood up, and despair clutched at her heart. The small fortune she had won suddenly didn’t seem as important as the fact that he was leaving. The champagne suddenly tasted flat and she put the glass down.
“I think I’ll go stretch my legs,” he said.
Kathy nodded, saddened that he was leaving.
“Would you like to take a walk with me?”
“Oh! Oh, yes.”
“Let’s go cash in your winnings.”
She quickly scooped her coins into several of the big plastic containers stacked beside her slot machine. Jessie followed her to the cashier, waited while she exchanged six hundred dollars worth of quarters for six crisp one hundred dollar bills.
She would pick up the rest of her winnings in the morning before she left for the airport.
She stared at the greenbacks in her hand, then slipped them into her handbag. She had never had so much cash in her life. She looked up at Jessie, suddenly nervous at the idea of being alone with him when she was carrying so much money. He was, after all, a stranger.
“Nothing to be afraid of, darlin’,” he drawled softly, and held out his hand.
His fingers were warm and firm as they curled over hers.
People turned to stare as they walked through the casino.
“Do you ever get tired of people gawking at you?” Kathy asked.
Jessie shrugged. “Not any more. I’m used to it.”
It was almost as bright as day outside. Lights from dozens of casino’s lit the sidewalk. Crowds of people hurried up and down, laughing and talking. The street was clogged with traffic – cars and taxi-cabs and campers, all in a hurry, even late at night.
“This city never sleeps, does it?” Kathy remarked.
“Nope. Is this your first time in Vegas?”
“It’s my first time anywhere,” she admitted. “Well, not quite. I went to Graceland last week.”
“Did you?” he asked, and she detected a note of wistfulness in his voice. “I haven’t been there in years, but I suppose it looks the same. What did you think of it?”
“I loved it.” Walking where Elvis had walked, seeing where he had lived, it had been an awesome, almost spiritual, experience.
“What made you decide to come to Vegas?”
She felt her cheeks grow hot. “Because I knew it had the most Elvis impersonators.”
“I see,” he said, grinning. “Really stuck on him, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You weren’t even born when he died,” Jessie remarked, and she heard a hint of sadness in his voice. “All that talk about his over-dosing on drugs.” He shook his head. “Damn reporters, always looking for dirt, always thinking the worst. They didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.”
He looked down at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Sorry,” he muttered. “So, tell me, how’d you get to be such a big fan?”
She laughed self-consciously. “I guess it’s hereditary. My mother’s a big fan. Instead of singing me lullabies, she sang me Elvis songs. I grew up listening to his music, watching his movies.” She sighed. “I think I fell in love with his voice the first time I heard him sing Heartbreak Hotel. I’d never heard anything like it. My mother has all of his movies and all of his records. I used my first paycheck to buy a collector’s album of his greatest hits.” It was something she hadn’t outgrown…occasionally spending money that should be used for necessities on Elvis memorabilia. “My friends all think I’m insane.”
“Well, I don’t.” He laughed softly. “I’m sure Elvis would be flattered. He loved his fans, you know. He needed them. That’s why he went back to performing on stage. He missed the closeness.” He hesitated a
moment. “The applause.”
“There’s never been a performer like him,” she said fervently. “Before or since.”
“Yeah,” Jessie said. “He was one of a kind all right.”
“Did you ever get to see him in person?”
“Oh, yeah. I guess you could say I was a big fan, too.”
They had left the Strip and the lights behind. The darkness settled around them, warm and intimate. Kathy felt a little tremor of apprehension as she realized they were very much alone. She was suddenly aware that she had a great deal of money in her handbag. She clutched it tighter, her imagination running wild as she imagined him knocking her unconscious and robbing her. She was being ridiculous, and she knew it. On the other hand, she didn’t know anything about Jessie, except that he looked exactly like the man she had idolized her whole life.
Dropping her hand, he came to an abrupt halt. “Do you want me to take you back to your hotel?”
Kathy looked up at him, wondering if he had read her mind. In the dim glow of a single streetlight, his eyes seemed to burn with a dark blue flame.
“No.”
“I mean you no harm, Kathy Browne.”
She stared at him, wondering, in a distant part of her mind, how he knew her last name.
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