Elvis Gets His Groove Back (Moonchuckle Bay Romantic Comedy #5

by Heather Horrocks

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. They fired me because the girls gave me free candy.”

  She chuckled. “Figures.”

  “Years later, Jailhouse Rock premiered there.”

  “And now you’re working at the Woo-Woo Revue on Mane Street in Moonchuckle Bay.”

  “Yes, I am.: He sighed dramatically. “I blame Gene.”

  She laughed. “Come on. Let’s help clean up some before the next crowd hits — or we get in trouble.”

  “You’re enjoying yourself far too much.”

  “I’m enjoying having work that doesn’t put humans at risk.”

  “So what happened? Did you hurt someone?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay,” he said, putting away items that had gotten messy during the rush. “At least we don’t have to close tonight.”

  “You know, I actually am enjoying myself.”

  Surprised, Elvis realized he was, too.

  Even though he didn’t like being out in public. He didn’t like having people think he was an Elvis impersonator. Short of plastic surgery — which wouldn’t work because he’d just shift and heal back — he couldn’t change his looks. He’d grown the beard to hide his face — but it hadn’t worked.

  Charlie took his arm and he looked down at her and smiled. He enjoyed interacting and spending time with this pretty blonde.

  That couldn’t be good.

  “What would you like for dinner?” Elvis asked her as they walked out of the theater after their shifts. It was ten o’clock.

  Charlie looked across the street at Town Square. “What’s around here?”

  He motioned to the left. “There’s Count Baklava’s and Beans & Boos Coffee.”

  She took his arm as they passed Count Baklava’s. “What else?”

  “Ahead is the Black Lagoon Saloon, Fangs, and A Bite to Eat Café.”

  “I’d like to try the café. Their takeout was delicious. If they’re still open.”

  “Are you kidding? This is Moonchuckle Bay. Eateries stay open really late here.”

  They turned right at the corner by the Black Lagoon Saloon, and he opened the door of Ilene’s café. Ilene had been a fan before, too, but she never sang to him off-key. Instead, she’d gathered recipes for several of his favorite pre-turning foods and kept them on hand for any time he might drop in. It was his own private menu.

  Ilene came scurrying out from behind the counter when she spotted them. “Elvis, it’s so good to see you.”

  She hugged him, and it felt a little like having a mother again. The closest he’d ever come again, he suspected. It made him feel loved and he kissed her cheek. “How’s my favorite cook?”

  She blushed. “Go on now! Who’s this beautiful woman with you?”

  “This is Charlie Melodi.”

  “The singer?” Ilene asked, her eyes widening. “I went to one of your Vegas shows and had a great time. You were amazing that night.”

  “Thank you,” Charlie said, “but I’m not singing anymore.”

  “Neither one of you is?” She paused, then shook her head. “Well, that’s none of my business, is it? Let me get you to a table.”

  Elvis followed the two women to a booth in the back where there was a little more privacy. Ilene knew him well.

  They slid in and Ilene asked him, “Anything special I can make for you tonight?”

  “Peanut butter and banana sandwich, darlin’.”

  “Not the Fool’s Gold? I’ve got the bacon and the French bread for it.”

  He rubbed his chin, thinking. “Well, now that you mention it, yeah, bring it on out.”

  “All right.” Ilene beamed. “And I have three specials you might like,” she told Charlie. “Our King Kong sub sandwich, Shepherd’s Pie, and our Mummy Wrap.”

  Charlie closed her menu emblazoned with A Bite to Eat Café — Food Like Mummy Used to Make. “The shepherd’s pie sounds fabulous. I’ll take that.”

  Ilene scurried off and Charlie studied Elvis. “Fool’s Gold?”

  “Only the best sandwich in the world. A loaf of French bread, a jar of creamy peanut butter, a jar of grape jelly, and a pound of crispy bacon.”

  “Impressive. How many people does it serve?”

  He grinned. “Just one.”

  “Wow. Now I really am impressed.”

  “I used to fly my people from Memphis to Denver to eat one of them. They were made by the Colorado Mine Company, a restaurant there in Denver. Then we’d fly home again.”

  “You used to be more impulsive than you are now.”

  Five years in a cage would do that to a person, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I was.”

  “So was I.” She sighed. “So is that restaurant still open?”

  “No, but when the restaurant closed, the chef, Nick, started Nick’s Café and he still makes them. He even has a cute little cartoon Elvis on his website.”

  Three women at the next table — a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead — kept glancing over. He knew they’d be by in a few minutes and, sure enough, the three of them made their way over.

  “Elvis, would you please autograph our napkins?”

  “Sure, darlin’.” And he proceeded to do just that, asking their names and personalizing the signatures.

  The redhead asked, “Are you going to be singing at Elvis night at Fangs?”

  “What’s that?” asked Charlie, looking interested.

  “It’s karaoke night, but only with Elvis impersonators.”

  “You have enough of those in town to do that?” Charlie asked.

  “They drive over from other towns, too,” the brunette said.

  Charlie looked far too interested. “How often do you have them?”

  “Every few months. Sometimes they do other singers, too, but Elvis nights are really popular.”

  One of the other women batted her eyes and said, “It’s five days from now. This Saturday. I hope you’ll be there singing.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Elvis said, knowing he wouldn’t go.

  After the women left, Charlie said, “We should totally go to that.”

  “We should totally not.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. Maybe Gene will go with me.”

  He chuckled. “Were you a blackmailer in your previous life?”

  She smiled and he got that funny feeling in his chest again. “How many Elvis impersonators are there, anyway? I mean, you’ve been gone from the music scene for forty years.”

  He shook his head, but felt humbled by all the people who’d honored him all these years. “There’s a bunch of them who belong to A.P.E.P.T.A. It stands for Association of Professional Elvis Presley Tribute Artists.”

  “You’re kidding. There’s an organization made up of Elvis impersonators?”

  “Believe it or not.”

  Just then, Ilene carried out two platters, setting one in front of Charlie and Elvis’s Fool’s Gold Loaf in front of him.

  “Thank you, darlin’.”

  “You’re welcome, Elvis. Anytime.”

  After she left, Charlie laughed. “Again I say, you’re kidding.”

  “Want a bite?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  She took one, chewed, and tipped her head. “That actually wasn’t too bad.”

  He laughed.

  What. Would. Gene. Say?

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING AS CHARLIE was getting out of the shower, she heard the sound of music. Not the movie, but guitar music, and it sounded like it was coming from outside, so she opened the bathroom window.

  It was guitar music and it was coming from outside.

  Someone was either playing the guitar or Elvis had put on a guitar music CD.

  But then she heard laughter and the guitar stopped, and then started again. Someone else was here? This early? The sun was barely peeking over the horizon.

  She pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and brushed through her hair, pulling it bac
k into a ponytail. Then she jogged down the stairs.

  She snagged an apple from the counter and glanced over to see Lorito on top of his cage, bobbing his head to the music.

  It sounded like the music was coming from the veranda. The ghost, perhaps? But he hadn’t said anything about the ghost playing the guitar, only singing off-key.

  But as soon as she went through the back door, she saw it was Elvis and a teenage boy.

  The boy was playing the guitar, while Elvis watched and instructed occasionally.

  They looked up as she came outside onto the veranda with them.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  Elvis nodded, and said, “Jake, this is my houseguest, Charlie Melodi. Charlie, this is my very persistent guitar student, Jake Stromberg.”

  “Persistent?” she asked with a smile.

  “He wouldn’t take no for an answer,” explained Elvis.

  “He said no a whole bunch of times, too.” Jake stopped playing. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Ms. Melodi.”

  “Likewise,” she said, and took a seat on the step above them. She chewed a bite of apple, and said, “Please go on. I was enjoying your playing. You play very well.”

  Jake blushed. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t lie to the boy like that,” Elvis said, but he was teasing as he winked at Charlie.

  “Hey,” protested Jake before he started playing again. He was good, but he could still learn a thing or two from Elvis, or even Charlie.

  Charlie fell into the song, a ballad that nearly brought tears to her eyes.

  As it ended, she caught Elvis studying her. He looked away.

  The boy studied both of them. “Better check eBay.”

  “Oh, thanks for the reminder.” Elvis snatched out his phone and started punching buttons.

  “What’s he doing?” Charlie asked Jake.

  “If you wait until the last minute, sometimes you can win the bid.”

  She and the boy turned to watch Elvis, who was now watching his screen. After several moments, he frowned. “I lost it.”

  He sounded disappointed, like whatever he was bidding on, he’d wanted a lot.

  Charlie stared at the two. “I don’t understand. What’s the big deal?”

  The kid laughed. “Elvis lost another bid.”

  “What did you bid on?” she asked.

  “On an Elvis guitar,” Elvis said.

  “Aren’t all your guitars, by definition, Elvis guitars?”

  Elvis explained, “Occasionally my old guitars from my estate go for sale, and I bid on them. But they go for hundreds of thousands of dollars. This is a replica of my Signature Gibson J-200 LTD Edition Natural Acoustic Guitar.”

  Elvis handed her his phone to show her, but she was familiar with it. “Sweet. What did it sell for?”

  “Six thousand dollars.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” the kid said with a laugh. “Because he always loses the bids.”

  “If you want any more lessons, you’d better change the subject, Jake.”

  “How about them Monsters? Think they’ll make State?”

  “Monsters?” Charlie was confused.

  Elvis explained, “Moonchuckle Bay High School’s team is the Monsters and their mascot is a Werewolf. Just a guy in a werewolf suit — but usually the guy in the suit is a werewolf.”

  Charlie changed the subject back. “I know a guy in Vegas who collects guitars. I wonder if he’s got any of yours.”

  Elvis shrugged, then looked up sharply. “Evelyn, please don’t sing when I have company.”

  Jake looked at Charlie. “He thinks there’s a ghost here.”

  “Isn’t there?”

  “I’ve never seen or heard her, and I’m here twice a week.”

  Elvis watched as Charlie went back inside his house.

  Jake stared after her with a besotted look on his face. “She’s pretty.”

  “She’s too old for you.”

  “Yeah, but she’s not too old for you.”

  “Don’t even think it, kid.”

  Jake strummed a few chords and started singing, “Don’t even think about it, ki-i-i-id.”

  “Very funny.” But he smiled at the young man.

  Jake was fourteen and had always wanted to play guitar. He’d come over every week for over a year before Elvis had capitulated and agreed to teach him guitar — but only when Jake had promised that he wouldn’t tell a soul. The kid had been coming over twice a week for six months now, and he’d actually become a good friend.

  Jake had been born a werewolf. Natural-born werewolves grew and matured until they reached their prime, and then aged, but very slowly.

  When a human was turned, as in Elvis’s case, they either stayed the age they were or reverted back to the version of themselves in their prime. You never knew which would happen and, lucky for him, he’d reverted. An eternity of living in his older, bloated form wouldn’t have been pretty.

  Jake switched to a different set of chords, and started singing the Jerry Lee Lewis classic, “Great Balls of Fire.”

  After the first verse, he looked over at Elvis, continuing to strum, and said, “Come on, sing with me.”

  Though the music called to him, Elvis shook his head. “You know I don’t do that, kid.”

  “I know you don’t sing your own songs.”

  “I don’t sing. At all.”

  “Okay. I get it.” He sighed, though his expression clearly indicated that he didn’t get it at all.

  Jake started strumming and singing again, and Elvis closed his eyes and sighed. He missed singing with an ache. It had been so much a part of his life, but five years in a cage changes things.

  Then he heard someone else singing. No, not singing — humming.

  It must be Charlie, inside the house, humming along with Jake. And then, softly, so softly he barely heard, she whisper-sang a line of the song.

  The hair on his neck and arms rose. He recognized that voice!

  The woman who had saved him thirty-five years ago! The one who had entranced the witch so that Gene and the other werewolves could set Elvis free!

  He hadn’t seen the singing woman then, but he’d sure heard her. Her voice had been like that of an angel, setting him free from the hell he’d been trapped in.

  Stunned, Elvis tried to wrap his head around the situation. Charlie was the woman who’d entranced his captor so he could be saved?

  She was. He knew it without doubt. He’d replayed that singing in his mind so many times that he’d never forget it.

  Is that why Gene had sent her to stay with him?

  For Elvis, it was full circle.

  She continued to hum and he clung to that sound, the one he associated with being saved.

  He pushed to his feet and told Jake, “I’ll be back. Keep singing.”

  He was going inside to confront her, to see if she had known he was the werewolf who’d been saved that night.

  He pulled open the door and stepped inside, where Evelyn appeared before him, a frown on her face. She shook her transparent head and said, “Don’t go to her. She doesn’t love your music like I do.”

  With another sigh, he said, softly, “Evelyn, you are my most fervent fan. You are the queen of my fans.”

  Evelyn smiled at that.

  “But I still need to go talk to her. She saved my life.”

  A phone rang and Charlie said, “Hello.” She stopped humming and turned her attention to the caller.

  And then it was too late to confront her. Evelyn had delayed him just long enough to make him miss his chance.

  He shook his head and told Evelyn, “Go listen to Jake. He’s getting very good.” He was shocked when she did as he asked for once.

  From where he stood, Elvis could see Charlie walking up the stairs to her bedroom.

  He wouldn’t ask anything about her saving him — at least not now — but he’d certainly treat her with more respect.

  She’d saved him.

  Once Charlie was
in her bedroom, she pulled out the small print calendar she kept in her purse. “Okay, Amber, I’m ready. What day do you want to go?”

  Amber laughed. “How about tomorrow?”

  Charlie dropped the calendar back in her purse. She didn’t need to look this one up. “We’ll have to be done by four because that’s when my next shift is at the theater.”

  Amber said, “Is it true that Elvis is working with you there?”

  “He is, and he’s great with people.”

  “That’s new. He’s stayed aloof all this time. He seems to be quite talkative with you, though. And I’ve never seen him smile so much.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Charlie said, changing the subject. “Where are we going tomorrow?”

  “I was thinking we could either go out to the unicorn ranch or to one of the gift shops in town. Or the secondhand store. And then we could go to lunch at Count Baklava’s or the Black Lagoon Saloon.”

  “A unicorn ranch. That sounds really cool. But so do the shops.” It was nice to find a woman who she was interested in possibly becoming friends with. It had been a while since Charlie had been friends with anyone other than Hank. “Wherever you’d like to take me, I’ll enjoy it.”

  “Okay. I’ll surprise you tomorrow, then. Dress in casual clothes and tennis shoes.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll pick you up around eleven.” Which was good, because Walter was still in Vegas with her Jeep.

  After she hung up the phone, Charlie could still hear Jake singing. She made her way back downstairs and outside.

  Both men looked up when she came out, and she saw interest in both sets of eyes. That was always good for the ego.

  She sat on the step next to Jake.

  When Jake ended the song, he smiled at Charlie. “Anything you’d like to teach me?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she teased, and then she proceeded to teach him a few things about playing a mean guitar.

  Elvis made waffles and hash browns and omelets for breakfast while Jake and Charlie watched him cook.

  Elvis was still struggling to deal with the fact that this was her. That woman. The angel who’d sung so powerfully and sweetly.

  And he didn’t really know what to say. She had not only saved him — but remembering her singing had saved him on multiple bad days as he’d recovered. Remembering those angel notes had brought him out of his own personal hell many times over.