Dream Angel : Heaven Waits

by Patricia Garber

  “Lunch time yesterday,”

  Keeping his eyes on the road, he reached over and gently patted my hand. “I’m sorry. I forget about the basic needs some times.”

  I’m sure God prefers it that way. I started to chuckle, but stopped when Elvis looked my way. I opened my mouth, ready to protest these constant mental intrusions, only to then clamp it shut. Why bother? I had never claimed to be a saint, but I had at least considered myself a lady. Modesty was proving to be difficult when my every thought was like an open book. My problem seemed hopeless. And I was about to give in when a solution as light as a feather, but with the impact of a brick, fell to mind. A devilish smile crept across my face.

  One times one is one. Two times one is two. Three times one, is three, I beamed.

  Slowly Elvis reached up and removed his glasses. “What are you up to, now?” His eyes narrowed.

  “Trying to get through the one-sees,” I turned away and looked out the window. Four times one is four. Five times one is five.

  ‘Follow That Dream’ was my favorite of Elvis’ movies. As far as I was concerned, his role as the tender but dim witted Toby Kwimper was nothing short of comedic genius. In the movie Toby used his schooling, or lack of, to keep the girls away. The more aggravated the women became with his time-table ritual, the less likely they were to hang around, tempting him in to matrimony. Toby’s infuriating game was brilliant.

  The concentrated look on Elvis’ face told me he was busy struggling to decipher the meaning of my sudden fascination with mathematics. My thoughts were truly mine. Privacy was bliss, and when his eyes flashed with an understanding, it was also fleeting.

  “You never cease to amaze me, baby,” Elvis’ laughter skipped.

  I could tell by the way he quickly clamped down his lips, and looked away, that he was trying not to outright laugh at me, but then unable to resist, he looked back, and started to laugh again. I tilted my sharp chin higher as our shiny white chariot crossed the Alabama state line.

  When the next available exit presented itself Elvis did not pass it up. He eased the utility vehicle off the highway, and rolled up to the drive-in-window of a tiny white stucco building. The smell of grease turned my stomach, but I ordered anyway.

  “Can we now just get a room?” I said while picking at the bread, completely lost in the gross-factor of my meal.

  It took me a moment to realize that he hadn’t answered. And when I looked up, that Cheshire grin of his had me reaching for a napkin. What was on my face, mustard or mayonnaise? I wasn't sure, but I was whipping my lips when my understanding finally cracked like a whip.

  “Oh! No, I-I didn’t mean I wanted a “room” with you,” I said, adding the insulting air quotations as if my blunder wasn’t embarrassing enough.

  Elvis' eyes widened.

  “No! I-I don’t mean you’re not desirable because, well, that’s just ridiculous.”

  Smirking at me now, he just shook his head.

  “Ah, never mind.” I waved him off. “I-I just need to shower to feel like a girl again, please.”

  “Ok baby, we’ll stop so that you can uh,” he shot me a distractingly flirtatious grin, “become a woman.”

  The tiny hairs on the back of my neck pricked.

  ***

  “Would you and your father like one or two rooms?” The middle aged man asked from behind the counter.

  Perplexed, I looked up from the registration papers.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The elderly gentlemen with you, ma’am,” he said, and then nodded across the room.

  I glanced over my shoulder, and there sat a vigor Elvis, one leg crossed over the other and a newspaper open in his lap. Stunned into silence, I was unaware that he had followed me inside. And when the man at the counter cleared his throat, impatient for an answer, Elvis looked up from his read. His attention flashed to me, and then to the hotel employee. Smiling, he held up two fingers in a helpful response to a question that I was incapable of answering.

  “Yes sir,” the man said, and then scurried off for what I assumed was our room keys.

  Curious, I inspected Elvis closely. He didn’t look a day over 32 to me. What was this man seeing that I was not, I was just about to ask when the worker returned. He dropped two keys to the desk with a loud clang, interrupting the moment, so I made a mental note to inquire later.

  With all the official guest papers now signed, we headed for our rooms. A hot bath was almost all that was on my mind. I say almost because I’d be lying if I said the sight of Elvis carrying my bag, accompanying me to a private room, didn’t spark a longing. Though a line had been drawn months ago, I still wanted him in every way that a woman wants a man. And it didn’t matter that we’d been down this road before, unsuccessfully. The electricity between us was instinctive, powerful, and sadly forbidden.

  Two times one is two, two times two is four, I had graduated to the two-sees.

  “Are you going to do the times tables every time you want to shut me out?” He asked as he fumbled with the first set of room keys.

  “When you stop reading my every mental blurb, I’ll stop doing multiplication.” I entered the room, chin set, and frustration surging over the scent of his spicy cologne. Two times three is six, two times four is eight.

  I could feel Elvis’ eyes following me. And when he dropped my bag onto the bed and walked to the adjoining room, my heart sank. Watching his reflection in the vanity mirror, I searched for a reason, a suitable plea, for him to stay. Intimacy was not my lone motivation. I simply didn’t want to be alone, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak such seemingly childlike feelings out loud. Instead, I watched him reach into his pockets, searching for another set of keys that would take him away from me for the night.

  Feeling the weight of my stare, he looked up at me, and I sheepishly averted my eyes. Two times five is ten, two times six, is twelve.

  The door creaked as he opened it. At first, he made no move to leave. I could feel his gaze from behind, but I couldn’t look at him. I was half woman and half child. My love for him was like a weight to my chest. I dare not breathe too deeply for fear it might sink further and suffocate the life right out of me.

  Why in my life did pain always seem to walk hand in hand with love? I had learned that lesson the day I buried my mother, and now that familiar heartache had returned. Only this time things were different. There was no wall around my heart. My angel had dismantled it months ago. I was defenseless.

  With my eye downcast in a mix of grief and confusion, I did not see him approach me from behind. He laid his palms to my shoulders, and gently began to message away the tightness, awakening my body with just his touch.

  Two times seven is fourteen, two times eight is—. Cut short, he drew me hard against his chest.

  “Sixteen,” his velvety voice whispered in my ear, and I looked up to his reflection. His lips fluttered briefly, sensually, with a smile and then settled into a more solemn expression.

  “Samantha, please don’t hide from me.” He spoke while pulling me gently around to face him.

  “No, don’t.” I rested my palms against his chest and pushed but he held firm. “I’m not myself. I’m weak.”

  “This too shall pass.” His voice sounded gravelly, and I could feel the gentle rise and fall of his breath under my touch. His heart beat escalated, and my own seemed to match it beat for beat. Images of our last night together flickered in my mind like clips from a tragic love story.

  “Why, why are you here, really?” I asked, now able to hold his gaze, searching for answers in the depths of his crystal blue pools.

  “Because you need me.”

  “And you’ll leave, when?”

  “When, you ask me to.” His knowing eyes grew misty as he reached up and swept my hair away from my face.

  “That won’t happen.” I shook my head, my defiance swelling with the tears.

  A corner of his mouth lifted in a sad replication of that iconic grin. “Yes, darlin’, it
will,” he uttered while drawing me closer, and like a child longing for comfort, I clung to the safety of his embrace.

  His body softened as he drew me deeper, his arms crushing me to his chest.

  “Love, that’s the key to the world,” His lips swept over my hair in a light kiss. “It’s God’s perfect plan.”

  “If it’s so perfect, why does it hurt so much?”

  “Good love always does, baby. Good love always does,” Elvis repeated with a soft sigh.

  He shifted only slightly and lifted my chin so that he could look into my eyes. My lips trembled as he gently wiped away the tears that I could no longer hold.

  “You’re so pretty, honey,” he muttered softly, now cradling my face with both of his hands. “I look into your eyes and I see a love, I saw only from a stage. It’s as intoxicating now as it was thirty years ago.”

  As he spoke, a peaceful smile slowly adorned his face, and his attention shifted to what I believed was some distant moment in time. I wondered if he was reliving the memory of a love he had spent his life time trying to understand. His fans love. A love he was drawn to, even now. And when his tempestuous blue pools cleared, he still held my face within his palms. His interest shifted to my mouth.

  Please God, let him kiss me, just once, I silently prayed, and his smile flicker into a tender grin. A single moment was counted in a heartbeat, and then his lips melted against mine.

  His kiss was timid and tender. And while I skyrocketed straight to heaven, he commanded the moment, pausing after each purposeful taste to gaze into my eyes before flashing me a bashful grin and kissing me once more. Soon the space between us gradually became smaller. Our gravitational attraction was like that of the sun’s pull on the planets, and we nearly melted into each other’s arms, our bodies exhaling as one.

  The kissing that had once been soft and innocence quickly became urgent and hungry. Fervently, he reclaimed my lips, demanding I give him all I had. I opened to him eagerly, and the long-missed taste of him washed over my tongue, evoking a burst of passion that shot through my body like a meteor shower on a clear summer’s night.

  When my knees buckled, his grip tightened. With an arm around my shoulders, and his free hand pressed firm against the curve of my back, he drew me determinedly against his body. All delicious ingredients of him, both soft and hard, molded perfectly with my own. The familiar terrain of his body ignited a primal instinct so deeply buried inside of me even I didn’t know it existed. I was ravenous to touch him.

  Motivated by a rush of euphoria, my hands trembled along his torso, crossed his slender pelvis and slipped downward. His breathing skipped over my touch, and as we panted mouth-to-mouth, he shifted, allowing me room to experience him, enjoy him. I was kissing his neck, moaning, while he was shuddering. The realization that he wanted me as badly as I wanted him had me so crazy, I hadn’t notice he’d pushed me hard against the edge of the vanity station. Its pointed edge dug in to my back.

  “God, I crave you,” he moaned while sliding his left hand down my right thigh. My body instantly liquefied.

  Impatient, he drew my leg upwards. And with the same hip thrust that had fascinated a generation, he pressed his pelvis firm into mine. Filled with a wanting, I trampled the traditional spirit that existed inside of me. I’d forgotten about the woman who normally believed in marriage before sex. And, neither his blasphemy nor our forbidden love-making could snap me from this fog. The barricades of principle had melted.

  While Elvis unlatched his own belt, I snapped off every button on his shirt, and plunged my hands deep into the soft brown hairs that decorated his torso.

  “Lord, help us,” he hissed through clinched teeth.

  The significance of his plea slammed against my heart, and like a slap to the face my focus cleared. I looked up to my angel, and sucked in a breath of surprise. His face was contorting with fury. His once passionate blue waters now churned with contempt, and he looked at me with an empty gaze. It was only when I placed a gentle touch to his heated face that his eyes cleared. Wordless, we stared at each other. It was as if we were seeing each other for the first time, and the tears swelled in both of our eyes.

  In this moment of dawning realization, he drew me all the way in to his arms, hugging me and squeezing me tight.

  “Baby, oh baby, I’m so sorry,” he cried hoarsely.

  The tears flowed. We clung to each other, our bodies shaking with emotion. And when he pealed himself out of my embrace, I crossed my arms over my chest in a feeble attempt to console my heartbreak. The shame continued to swell. With his eyes cast downward, Elvis marched across the room and grabbed his jacket.

  “Where are you going?” I sniveled.

  “Out,” he said flatly and flung the door open. When it slammed behind him, my body jumped with the finality of the moment.

  I peeked out the window, and watched as his long, rushed, strides carried him down the walkway. He shoved one arm into his jacket sleeve while his other arm flailed about, struggling to find its mark. As the ends of a shirt I virtually torn apart with my own hands blew behind him in the breeze, I watched until I could see him no longer. And once he was out of sight, the damned gates opened and more tears fell.

  Turning, I raced for the one place I could grieve in private — the bathroom. And as I’d done in the past, I jumped into the shower fully dressed. I sat on the cold tile, knees drawn up tight, and allowed the warm water to cascade over me. Curled up into myself, I wailed.

  ***

  Wrapped in a towel, I sat damp and steaming on a stiff hotel bed. If the clock was right, it was noon. It was too early for a long, deep sleep, but my eyes burned anyway, and I rubbed them as I yawned. I glanced to the doorway. What kind of woman can so easily tempt one of God’s angels? I scowled. Tossing the towel to the floor, I crawled into the fresh sheet. Goosebumps spread over my bare skin in a cooling rush. The crisp, cold sheets were comforting. And when the heat from my body began to melt the iceberg linen, I shifted, searching for yet another frosty landscape in which to lounge. This routine continued until my exhaustion overcame me and my eyelids, too heavy to hold, closed.

  I slipped off to a blissful sleep. The soft, but distinctive scent of lavender my mother wore filled my senses. I inhaled slowly and deeply over and over, as if breathing in her very essence. I opened my eyes and found myself standing in a field of flowers. Purple petals on green strands surrounded me. I reached out and softly laid a finger against waxy petals.

  This was a field made for my mother, and everything about it was as real as could be. I slowly turned in a complete circle, fully expecting, needing, to see her standing before me. She was nowhere to be seen. I squeezed my eyes closed and held back more tears of disappointment. The ache in my heart was no less than the day she died. I whispered an inaudible prayer to leave this place, and the field slowly melted away. I mercifully sank back into deep slumber.

  Chapter 12

  I woke to the gentle strumming of an acoustic guitar. Each melancholic note enamored me, supporting my mood like a sympathetic friend. At first I refused to open my eyes, afraid the beautiful serenade would fade. Eventually, and only when I felt ready to face the world, did I reluctantly peek.

  To no surprise, I saw Elvis sitting across from me in the room’s only easy chair. He had changed clothes, and looked refreshed in a navy blue suit, his white shirt crisp and stark against the dark fabric. With his eyes closed, his long fingers finessed each note. A single swatch of black hair drifted lazily across his forehead, and I dared not breathe, for fear of disturbing the moment.

  “Rested?” His soft baritone all but hummed the question.

  “Yes, except for the dreams.” I stretched under the covers.

  “Hmm… yes.” He struck a bluesy twang on the guitar.

  “Do you watch my dreams?” Where did he get that guitar?

  “Yes… and from a store down the street,” The music abruptly stopped and Elvis rose from the chair. “I have something I’d like to show you.�
��

  He laid the guitar against the armchair and crossed the room in three strides. I sat up, my mouth poised with an apology, and or question. I couldn’t decide. I never got a chance to sort it out, as he interrupted with a sudden about face u-turn back in my direction.

  “Listen, honey, about earlier,” he ran a hand through his hair, pushing back that stray strain to its rightful place. “That wasn’t your fault.”

  Right away, a tear collected in the corner of my eye.

  “Yes, it was.”

  “No, sweetheart, it’s not. Look, w-we just got caught in the middle of a rivalry older than time, that’s all.”

  I only knew of one battle older than human existence, and instantly visions of tormented souls swarmed my imagination.

  “And that sadistic bastard, he loves to use our weaknesses against us,” Elvis’ words rattled with rage. “He’s just waiting to catch me off guard.”

  As he spoke, his eyes were scanning over the room and I found myself looking as well, fearful of what I could not see. My heart pounded and my stomach turned. The mere thought that Lucifer, the first fallen angel of heaven, had inspired such insatiable lust was almost too much to comprehend. It was other-worldly. I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew what Elvis had said was true. The devil was real, and he was forever close.

  “W-what does he want, me?”

  “Oh, he’d love that,” Elvis chuckled and began to pace the room. “No darling’ he’s taunting me and laughing about it. He wants to see me fall to my desires and prove myself unworthy.”

  His words tumbled out on what seemed like one breath.

  “But, he forgets he’s nothing but an occupational hazard to me, that’s all.” He said, holding his arms straight out at his side, palms up and in a challenging gesture. “I’m not the same man!”

  My eyes were fixed on the dark corners of the room. I wanted to scream at him to keep it down. An angelic battle was not what I wanted to see. I was fragile human flesh!

  When he refocused to me, the frightened look in my eyes gave him a jolt, and his temper visibly cooled, but only a notch. Red from the neck up, he was fuming just under the line.