Dream Angel : Heaven Waits

by Patricia Garber

  ***

  The drive from Alabama to Georgia was less than 300 miles. Amazingly, Elvis managed it in less than three hours, driving as if on autopilot.

  When the towering skyscrapers of downtown Atlanta came into view, my hesitations about returning home began to melt. A sense of peace rushed over me. Maybe I had finally accepted God’s plan for me, or maybe Elvis’ laid-back demeanor those last hundred miles had rubbed off, I cannot say. But on this day, as we passed the city, headed for the more urban side of Atlanta, my excitement grew. The feeling was warm and welcoming as if I was finally, in the truest meaning of the word, coming home.

  Elvis eased the Escalade off the freeway and into my neighborhood. Georgia’s graceful live oak trees — iconic of the old south — lined my street, their evergreen branches seconding as a canopy over head. Through the rain-splattered car window, I admired each familiar yard, still brown from the winter freeze. And as we turned the last corner, my heart fluttered over the sight of my white brick beauty. It was good to be home.

  Neither of us spoke as he turned the sleek Cadillac into my driveway and parked. We stepped out into a light mist, and automatically fell into our roles. Elvis raced to the back of the car to fetch my bags, while I ran to unlock the front door. We moved so easily in each other’s company, as though this could have been our lives in some other realm of time. I had just placed the key inside the lock, when I heard my name.

  “Ms. Samantha.” Mrs. Jefferson, my elderly neighbor, called out to me while waving a hand full of clutched items in the air.

  Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson had lived in this neighborhood for more than fifty years. Well in their eighties, and with all of their children living outside Atlanta, Mrs. Jefferson had all but taking me in as her own. The admiration was mutual.

  “What have you got there, Mrs. Jefferson?” My upbringing did not allow me to call her by her first name.

  I left the door unlocked for Elvis and stepped down from my porch. Elvis glanced up from the trunk of the car.

  “Some mail darlin’. I thought it not safe to leave it stacking up in your mail box.” She wobbled precariously, but with determination, toward me.

  “Thank you, ma’am… please, I’ll come to you.”

  Mrs. Jefferson did not have the best of vision, but I did not want her getting a good look at the dream I was parading into my home.

  “I can walk. I’m 80, not dead child,” she fussed.

  We met half way, neither of us shielding ourselves from the rain. I took the mail from her hand.

  “Oh, and before I forget, this note was left on your door this morning. I thought I better get it, least it blow away,” she said while shoving her hand into the side pockets of her long dress and pulling out a folded piece of paper.

  The familiarity of the hand writing caught my eye, but I couldn’t right away place it.

  “I see you have a friend with you today, Sam.”

  I heard her speak, but I was busy examining the folded white note with the blue inked word “Samantha” smeared from rain down the front.

  “Hello there young man,” Mrs. Jefferson said to Elvis, not waiting for an introduction.

  Elvis had reached the front door and paused. “Ma’am,” He nodded his head, his hands full of bags, before gently nudging the door open with his foot and entering my home.

  “Oh, he’s a handsome fella alright,” she squinted but I was not too worried.

  “Yes, well…” I stuttered, resisting the urge to tear open the note and read it right in front of her.

  “Child, I’m not totally blind. I know a hunk of a man when I see me one!” She said, and then added, “even if he is a little young.”

  My attention flickered, and I slowly looked up to her grinning face. A heat surged up my neck and warmed my face.

  “I’m sorry, come again ma’am.” I said, and leaned in closer.

  “Oh child, that boy looks like he just broke loose from his mama’s apron strings. I bet he’s spirited, too! Those young ones always are.” She turned and with a wave of her hand, promptly marched back to her house.

  The rain dripped down my head while Mrs. Jefferson’s step quickened with surprising stability as she raced to get out of the rain.

  “Don’t you worry, your secret is safe with me,” she called over her shoulder.

  I smiled. Great, first I’m accosting the elderly and now I’m cradle robbing. What’s next? I shook my head.

  Shoving the stack of mail inside my jacket, along with the note, I ran across the lawn to shelter. I bounded up the painted white cement stairs, skipping the last step, and in reaching for the brass antique door knob, I paused. I looked to my left, and then to the right, unnerved by what I imagined were the eyes of the world watching me, or worse. Welcome home, I thought and then with a deep breath, I stepped through the threshold.

  Right away, I scanned the room, half expecting something further to be out of place. Everything appeared just as I had left it, neat and orderly. I noticed my bags lay abandoned near the phone station. And in lifting my gaze, a blinking red light announced a message awaited me on the phone. It was probably Heather, I told myself, and elected to check it later.

  With Elvis nowhere in sight, I could hardly wait to open the note. I was taking off my jacket while unfolding the paper, all at the same time.

  Unsigned, it read: I must see you

  A mix of fear and fascination swelled. In my mind, there was only one person who would have left such a desperate note. But Steve didn’t know where I lived, and we had just arrived, I rationalized as I flipped the note, front to back and then face forward again.

  “Samantha?” Elvis’ baritone called out.

  I folded the paper in to a wad and shoved it deep into my pockets. Running my hands through my hair, I pulled back my shoulders and headed down the hall. I was just about to pass my office when I spotted him and came to a sudden halt. There he stood, in the only light available — the daylight that seeped through the crack in my binds. He had his back to me, and he appeared unusually fascinated with my white bare walls.

  “Are you redecorating?” He asked as he bent over to pick up a framed photo of himself, neatly stacked by his feet.

  My insides curled into a knot.

  “No.” I entered the room, mindful of the note that was still clutched in my hand and conveniently buried inside my pocket. “When you left, I took down your pictures.”

  I stood at his side, but he didn’t acknowledge me. He was focused on the vibrant young image of himself, captivated by a time in his life when he held so much in the palms of his hands.

  “I-I just couldn’t look at these beautiful photos every day not knowing if I’d ever see you again.” I said, and to be sure I had his attention, I reached out and gently touched to his shoulder.

  When he looked up, his gaze was piercing.

  “You’re stronger than you think, baby.” He said with a concentrated look that suggested he knew a secret. And when I said nothing in response, he let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Surprisingly, I’m not bad with a hammer.” He waved the photo my way with a playful smile that made me chuckle.

  “I may take you up on that, one day,” I said and as I reached for the photo, a beep sounded from my home computer.

  Elvis spun around, towards the sound, and I silently thanked the Lord for changing the subject.

  “That’s a letter, or rather email.” I pointed at my obsessively organized desk.

  “This generation and all its gadgets,” Elvis said with his hand over his heart.

  “It’s pretty handy.”

  Walking over to my desk, I took a seat. I gave the mouse a little shake and the computer screen lit up. My wallpaper was a lovely photo of Elvis, and I noticed his face lit up when he saw it.

  “I see I didn’t get taken off of everything,” he said as he sat comfortably to the corner of my desk.

  “I hadn’t gotten around to it yet,” I smiled, and he glared at me sideways.

>   He flipped his hand over, and motioned for me to proceed. A little yellow envelope blinked at the bottom of my screen. I moved the curser over it and with a click, up popped my unread mail. ‘N.B.N headed your way’, the letter head read. My eyes widened.

  “So, this is a letter from, Melissa?” Elvis moved closer, reading her name from the display.

  I nodded and let out a defeated groan.

  “Melissa is… a fan of mine?”

  “You know, this can wait,” I reached for the mouse, but was stopped short by Elvis’ hand.

  “Why don’t you want me to see her letter?”

  “I… I didn’t say that.” My cheeks burned.

  “Show me the letter,” Elvis patted my hand.

  “But…”

  “Samantha.” Elvis’ voice grew stern.

  Melissa and I had been friends for years. We shared one thing in common, a love for Elvis Presley. And though Melissa had a quirky personality, one that grew on a person over time, I knew full well the attachment would not be meant for mixed company. He was in for a shock, but there was no avoiding it, not with him pressing me just over my shoulder, so, I clicked the file. It only took a second for the surprise to pop up.

  “I’ll be as son of a…” Elvis stood up, jarred from his spot as if zapped from behind.

  The file opened to a photo of Elvis, shown dancing to a number called, “The Walls Have Ears” from his movie, “Girls, Girls, Girls.” The song was by far the least interesting association the photo carried. The shot captured Elvis, completely by chance, in a state of arousal.

  “Nobody will see it, Boss, they said.” He smiled with sarcasm and walked away.

  “It’s uh… hard for a girl to miss.”

  He turned. “Are you saying women are passing this around?”

  “I—”

  “What does N.B.N. stand for? Wait, I’m not sure I want to know.” He raised both hands.

  “Naughty but nice,” I blurted out and Elvis paused, his hand still held in the air.

  Our eyes met and his lips twitched with a smile. I dared not move. And it was Elvis who cracked first as his outright laughter engulfed the room.

  “Naughty, but…,” He struggled.

  “Nice.” I finished for him.

  He collected himself long enough to steal a glance at me, and then doubled over once again.

  “So, let me get this straight. ‘Little Elvis’ here has been shared with women all over the world?” He said, wiping a tear from his eye.

  Little Elvis? I’m not touching that one!

  “Yes, I suppose you could say that.” I was chuckling myself now.

  “And to think, all those years, I was doing it the hard way!” He slapped his leg and went into a new round of guffaws.

  Just as I was thinking this little distraction could not have come at a better time the phone rang at my desk. I looked twice in surprise at the caller ID. As though given a cosmic cue, it was my friend, Melissa. We both reached for the phone, but Elvis beat me to the call. His eyes glimmered triumphantly as he brought the receiver to his ear. I gestured wildly, begging for him to give me the phone.

  “Hello, you’ve reached naughty but nice headquarters, this is Elvis, please leave a message after the tone,” Elvis said before sounding a shrill beep and dropping the phone into my hands.

  A muffled voice called questioningly from my palms as I brought the phone to my ear. Elvis sat back down on the corner of my desk to watch.

  “Hello?” Melissa said.

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Sam? Where did you get that message, it sounded just like him! I can’t believe you found one that actually said naughty but nice.” Melissa rambled excitedly

  “I… uh… had an impersonator friend record it for me a while back,” I shrugged, and Elvis grinned like an alley cat that had finally found some cream.

  “You’re a clever girl! Hey, I’m calling you to see if you’re going to the tribute concert tonight in Atlanta.”

  I hadn’t heard about any Elvis-related concerts in my home town. I glanced at Elvis, who simply raised an eyebrow.

  “No, I wasn’t planning on it,” I said.

  Elvis shook his head otherwise.

  “Oh? I was hoping you’d pick me up a t-shirt. I really like this guy.”

  “I-I had no idea anyone was in town.”

  Elvis sighed and rested his chin pensively on his right palm.

  “Listen, Melissa, I have company, can I call you back another time?”

  “Oh, did you get the photo I emailed you?” Melissa suddenly asked.

  Elvis grimaced and reached for the phone.

  “I really have to go!” I practically shouted as I spun my chair away from his grasp.

  I hung up the phone, not waiting for her goodbye. I would find a way to explain later, I thought, as I turned back around to find Elvis glaring at me, his eyes narrowing into tiny slits.

  He'd hopped off of the desk and was now leaned back against it. And that easy posture of his would have looked relaxed on anyone else, but his legs, stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, telegraphed irritation with constant jiggling.

  “You mentioned a concert?”

  Chapter 16

  An hour later, and in a turn of last-word-irony I was dressing for the evening show. To say Elvis is persuasive is like saying the ocean is wide, but there was more to this evening than just my accommodating nature. I had been trying to convince myself all evening that “anyone” could have left that note on my door, but my continence wouldn’t rest. All I could see was Steve’ pleading eyes at the café, and Elvis reminding me that God’s children were historically bad when making decisions alone. The consequences for my sins felt long overdue.

  Sitting at my grandmother’s antique vanity, I was dabbing perfume to my wrist when the phone rang. I almost dropped the bottle in my rush to pick it up. The word “daddy” flashed on the screen.

  “Daddy!”

  “You were supposed to call.”

  “When I got home, yes sir,” I squeezed my eyes tight. “I’m sorry.”

  The line went silent. I turned the receiver around to see if we were still connected, and we were so I waited.

  “You arrived safely then.” He said curtly.

  “Y-yes, sir.” It wasn’t so much a question, but I answered anyway.

  “All right then, goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.” He said and then promptly hung up.

  Still holding the phone to my ear, I just sat there, listening to the dial tone. I felt as disconnected as the line. My father deserved better. He had suffered through so much heartache. The last thing he needed was me twisting the olive-branch of his life. He needed peace. But, I was human too, and a lot had happened on those three hundred miles home. I needed to talk to someone.

  I called the one person I knew I could count on. She picked up on the first ring.

  “I’m glad you called.” Heather said, skipping the more mundane “hello”.

  Just the sound of her voice did wonders. “I’m home, and I’m fine.” I beat her to the punch.

  “Are you sure? You sound… funny.”

  I heaved a sigh, stood up, and went to my closet.

  “To be honest, things are… strange here.” I considered a navy blue dress then disregarded it.

  “W-what do you mean strange?”

  My heart strings tugged over the worry I heard in her voice. She was like a big sister to me. The urge to tell her about the last twenty four hours surged but I held back. The battle of good and evil didn’t serve well over the phone.

  “You know, it’s been odd.” I picked out a pair of black ankle strapped heals and tossing them to the bed.

  “Odd, covers a lot of ground, Samantha!”

  “Please, don’t shout. Daddy’s already mad at me, and I don’t think I could handle it if you were too. I’m ok. I’m home, and Elvis is here, but I do need to talk to you. Can you come over tomorrow morning, it’s sort of,” I wa
s extra careful, “important.”

  I could hear her breathing.

  “Are you there?”

  Heather had been in the trenches of life with me for so long, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she hung up. But she didn’t.

  “You’re right, we should talk.”

  That was easy. “O-ok… good, tomorrow it is then,”

  “See you in the morning, sleep tight,” she said, and with that she too hung up in my ear.

  The dial tone shrieked, and a silly smirk came over me. Heather’s atrocious phone etiquette was back. Surprisingly, I had missed it. I longed for the good ole days, my old life.

  ***

  I adjusted the cuffs of my long sleeved dress, and considered myself in the mirror. My chestnut hair fell soft in lengthy ringlets around my face. I was dressed all in black, a simple but classic look. And though worn off the shoulders, and exposing just the right amount of skin, my intentions were in fact more of an innocent nature. I wished to tantalize not tempt, I told myself as I leaned in for a closer look. I wondered if my eyeliner was just a bit too heavy, and then just as quickly disregarded the notion. I felt sexy.

  The heels of my shoes clicked against the wood floor as I walked down the hall, eager to join the night. It’s funny how a pair of shoes can boast a girl’s confidence. Tonight, I felt poised enough to look my angel right in the eye and speak my heart. My confidence was evident in the way I walked, chest out and shoulders back. And I imagined an invisible trail of perfume lingering behind me as I entered the living room with butterflies in my stomach, and looking for my prince charming.

  When Elvis was nowhere to be found, I dropped my hand bag to the brown suede couch with a sigh, and took out my necklace for the evening. I was so busy fumbling with the clasp; I never heard him enter the room.

  “Let me help with that.” When he spoke, that unmistakable Mississippi drawl roused a quiver across my shoulders. I glanced up and froze.

  Across the room, dressed in a pair of sharply creased black slacks and a pale blue shirt, was a man of worldly sophistication. As he sauntered my way, I was mesmerize by the sight of the Presley strut reduced to a slower swagger. Was this Elvis Presley at the age of 70 or75? I couldn’t decide, but I dare not blink for fear I’d miss something new. Like the neatly trimmed, stark white mustache and goatee he now sported, for one. Or the way his blue eyes shined, a beautiful backdrop to his tanned skin and faded hair. He was the image of his aged father, but with the fuller soft features of his mother.