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The first time I saw Elvis Presley was a fiercely hot summer afternoon when I was seventeen years old. My best friend Margie had seen him on Milton Berle’s show and declared herself in love. Not only was he famous, not only could he sing, not only could he move, but he lived in our town. It was meant to be, Margie declared.
“You know, his favourite colours are pink, blue and black,” Margie recited, face deep in the music magazine she had brought with her as we waited at the fence of this regular ranch style house. We were not alone, there were almost a dozen other girls about our age lingering and fizzing with anticipation.
I looked at Margie in askance.
“Well, my favourite colour is pink! We’re so alike.”
“Uh huh.” I bet they both loved breathing air and eating food too.
The sun was beating down on us, I could feel sweat soaking the back of my blouse and my skirt was starting to stick to my thighs. Some of the other girls left, going home to sip cold drinks and lay on linoleum next to electric fans. Margie wouldn’t hear of it, begging for ten more minutes over and over.
Finally, eventually, there was movement out by the carport. The remaining girls, Margie included, started bobbing on their toes, leaning over the fence and not caring that the metalwork poked, prodded and dirtied their blouses.
Eventually a tall boy came wandering out towards the fence. He was wearing a motorcycle cap like Marlon Brando and a strange green shirt with laces. I looked to Margie, eyebrows twisted in a question. Him? Really?
“Hi there, girls, what are y’all up to?” he asked. His voice was higher than I had expected and he sounded real country to my sophisticated town ears. The girls all tittered and blushed.
“Well, they’re all about melting out here waiting for you obviously,” I said in exasperation. He gave them a bashful smile that allowed me a glimpse of what had turned them into giggling fools. The boy had a good smile that made my stomach warm in a way that had nothing to do with the heat.
“Not you though, honey? What’re you doin’ here then?” He leant on the fence in front of me, squinting slightly in the sun. The light glinted off his pinky ring and watch as he rested his forearm on the scrollwork. I became very aware that his hand was almost brushing my arm.
“It’s Margie’s car,” I shrugged. “We go where Margie wants.” He snorted at the irritation in my voice and revealed the curves of his cheekbones as he stuck the tip of his tongue between his teeth.
“Lucky for me,” he murmured. Then he moved off to sign some pictures for the other girls, leaving me to wonder whether he had really said what I thought he said. I watched him talk to each of the girls, flashing them all that blinding smile that lit up his face, and smashing his pouty lips against their round cheeks so hard that it squashed their faces for a moment.
Suddenly he was back, his hand dangling promisingly close to the hairs on my arm that were already standing on end. I stared at the diamond studded horseshoe ring on his pinky finger, breathing through my mouth.
“How about you, honey? You got something for me to put my scribble on?” I frowned, looking down at myself.
“I don’t have any paper,” I answered finally, feeling like a fool.
“Aw, doesn’t have to be paper. Why, just the other day some little gal got me to sign her… her… arm.” The look on his face made it very clear that it had not been her arm.
“Won’t that just wash off?” I asked dubiously.
“Yeah,” he shrugged, “but then you’ll have to come back. I got it all figured out, honey.” He winked and a weird, mindless giggle escaped me before I snapped my mouth shut.
There was a long pause. There was no way I was going to let him write on my skin, my mother would have a fit. I had already had to lie to her about where I was going. Showing up uninvited at someone’s house was up there with murder in my mother’s notion of sins.
He was tapping the metalwork on the fence, his long fingers as drumsticks, before he gripped hold and used it to help him balance as he swung back slightly, looking over his shoulder at his house. He reminded me of a little kid, a tall, handsome little kid.
“You know, I think I have some pictures up in the house,” he said slowly, like he was waiting for me to stop him. “Wanna come with me, honey, while I dig ‘em out? My folks are home.”
I almost answered too quickly, but then I remembered Margie, who was standing a few feet behind me, her eyes searing into the back of my sunburned neck.
“Can my friend come?”
“Sure. Huh, so it turns out that Margie goes where… What’s your name, honey?”
“Annie.” He held out his hand, palm up and I awkwardly placed mine on top, wondering what was going on.
“Hi Annie, I’m Elvis.” He lifted my hand and pressed his lips against my fingers. It was the corniest move and I wanted to roll my eyes, but I couldn’t quite get my mind working right feeling those soft, warm lips on my skin.
We trailed Elvis as he walked in an easy long stride up the driveway, passing under a car port that looked a lot like ours at home with a sack of dog kibble by the back door next to some muddy boots. Except for the Harley Davidson motorcycle and Cadillacs.
In the yard, my first impression was of a lot of mud. A huge hole had been dug in the ground and there was digging equipment and a cement mixer scattered about. Elvis tried to look casual as he told us that they were digging a pool, his voice all off-hand, but you could tell he was proud of it. He directed us over to a white table and some chairs on the patio.
“Take a seat, ladies, I’ll be right back.” We watched him disappear through the screen door and into the house.
There still wasn’t much shade at the back of the house, though Margie was luckier as she was in the shadow of the roof overhang. She didn’t look any cooler than me though, her face like stone as she stared.
“What?” I whispered guiltily. She didn’t replied, she didn’t need to.
The next thing I knew, an older lady was coming out through the door with a tray. She was wearing a pale blue dress and had dark hair, and something about the eyes told me that this was Elvis’s mother. Elvis was just behind her, holding the door open.
“Hello,” she smiled. We sat up straight like she might be able to stare straight through our red faces into our shameful minds. “Elvis was telling me about how far you gals came just to visit with us. My goodness, your mothers must be worrying themselves sick about you!”
Standing behind her, Elvis was nodding emphatically with his eyes wide, trying to get us to play along. Frowning at him, my head started to move up and down too.
“Yes, ma’am,” I murmured. “I mean, no, ma’am.”
“Are you sure? You know, I could call them on the telephone and let them know that y’all are here and safe? I really think I should.” Oh dear Lord, no!
“There’s no-one home right now, ma’am,” Margie put in quickly. Fast-thinker that one.
“Baby, the lemonade,” Elvis murmured, leaning over her shoulder. She blinked and offered us each a glass of cloudy lemonade with condensation trickling down the slightly misty glass. I almost spilled it down my front in my haste to get it to my mouth.
“This is delicious, ma’am, thank you,” I gasped after I had drank nearly three quarters of the glass at once. Elvis was still at his mother’s shoulder, smiling approvingly at us.
“You’re probably hungry too. Lord, are you sure there is no one I can call?”
“We’re about ready to head home soon, ma’am,” I promised. “Thank you though.”
“Well, let me get you some cookies at least. If you were my children, why I’d hope that someone would take care of you .”
When she had gone back inside, Elvis grinned, looking very pleased with himself.
“You shouldn’t have lied to your mama,” I said disapprovingly. “We don’t want to put her out.”
“Aw, she likes it,” he returned dismissively. “You want a tour?” I downed the rest of my lemonade as we rose from the table and followed Elvis into the house.
It took a moment for our eyes to adjust, the blinds were all drawn closed, making the interior dark and a little gloomy. Elvis walked fast, making big movements with his arms as he showed off the living room, where I spotted several pictures of a girl with dark hair, the kitchen, the family room, as well as some of the bedrooms. The tour ended in his bedroom.
I thought he was kidding at first, because it didn’t look like his room. It didn’t look like any boy’s room. The wallpaper was pink and flowery- Margie probably loved it- and was complimented by the rosebud bedspreads on the twin beds. All around the walls were large angel ornaments on a blue background. And the room was completely surrounded by teddy bears.
“Don’t you feel like they’re always watching you?” I asked, glancing around nervously. He laughed, a playful hiccup of a laugh.
“Maybe I like ‘em watching,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.
I didn’t know what he meant, but I suspected it was dirty and I flushed, turning to grab Margie’s wrist. I wasn’t about to stand in his bedroom if he was going to be crude with us.
“Hey, I’m only kidding, honey,” he said, pinching hold of my skirt at the hip. “Don’t go. You wanna take one?” He spread his arm wide. “I got plenty, you can both have one.”
I shot him one last warning look and then went to examine a cluster of teddies by the dresser. There was the cutest little black bear with a red ribbon around its neck. Margie chose a large bear with black button eyes and a light brown tummy.
Margie asked if she could use the bathroom and Elvis directed her to one down the hall. As soon as she was gone, he picked up one of the bigger bears and started to make it ‘talk’. He was being such a goof, making the bear say corny stuff about how I was pretty and how he- the bear- wanted to kiss me. Suddenly, he made the bear dive headfirst towards me and I shrieked, putting my hands up to protect my face.
“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll protect you,” he said, tossing the bear onto the bed and wrapping his arms around my waist.
He held me tight, much tighter than the boys usually did when we danced down by the river at the bandstand in the park on a Saturday afternoon. I stared up into his face, noticing how incredibly long his eyelashes were and how his eyes were dark blue rather than brown like I first thought.
When he finally kissed me it was fast and chaste like being pecked by a little bird. He pulled back, frowning as if to check my reaction, and I smiled to show him that I didn’t mind. This time, he put his palm against my cheek; it felt clammy, but that could have just been my sun warmed cheek. His lips were softer than any other boy’s I had kissed, though that was not saying much.
His brows drew together as he pulled away, sucking in first his bottom and then his top lip.
“Hey, that tastes delicious, what is that?”
“Oh, my lipstick.” I flushed, feeling like a stupid little girl playing dress up. “It’s flavoured. It’s supposed to be-“
“Cherry… right?”
“Uh huh.” He squeezed me tight again, his lips opening as he licked and nibbled and sucked on my mouth. Something was happening to my body, I thought I might be having a heart attack but all over. I shoved him back.
“You’re not meant to eat it!” I gasped.
“Oh, trust me, darlin’, every inch of you is meant to be eaten.” His face was so close that I could only focus on his lips, plump, round and glistening with the remnants of my cherry pie delight.
He was still holding me when Margie returned. Her gaze crystallised with betrayal.
“We should go, it’s getting late,” she said.
I trailed after her as she walked through the dim shadowy hall down towards the family room and the back door. The air felt too full of unspoken words and that made it difficult to talk. Mrs Presley was still in the kitchen and she handed us a paper sack of cookies for us to eat during our ‘long journey’. She made us promise to drive carefully and not get distracted by the radio or chatting.
As we crossed the patio, Elvis stopped us and went back to the table where he had some shiny photos of himself. He looked up at me and gave me a quick grin before huddling over the picture with a pen. His smile was flawless when he finally handed over the photo, but his cheeks were slightly pink. I glanced down.
‘Dear Annie, all my love and kisses, Elvis Presley.’
As we stepped out from under the carport and into the warm evening air, I had this overwhelming urge to show my gratitude. That afternoon would be a glistening glass bead that hung on the string of perfect memories I would carry with me, I felt sure of it. I rifled through my purse, pushing aside the signed picture and the little teddy bear.
“Here.” I felt silly as soon as I shoved the little tube into his hand. His eyes narrowed in bemusement, and he glanced down, his easy smile lighting up his face as he read the label at the end.
“Cherry Pie Delight.”
“Don’t eat it all at once,” I giggled, feeling smart and grown up. I could feel my back burning as I walked away, my sandals clopping on the path.
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The second time I saw Elvis Presley was in a movie theatre a month later. My friend and I each told our mothers that we were sleeping over at the other’s house. We thought we were geniuses.
I had never seen the place so packed, especially not for the movies we were supposed to be seeing. They were so good that I couldn’t remember what they were the next day.
Elvis didn’t show up until the lights had gone down and my stomach swooped in disappointment as I just saw a knot of shadowy figures move down the aisle on the far side of my row. It felt wrong, I knew something was supposed to happen. I knew it.
Just enjoy yourself, I tried to tell myself, you are eating popcorn, drinking soda, and watching movies for free. Count your blessings. That was enough, that was enough. It was not enough.
An odd, strangled sound came out of my mouth when I saw the shadowy figure moving up the aisle next to me. The height, the way he held his shoulders, the loose-hipped way he walked, there was no mistaking who it was. I held my breath as he approached, putting all of my life force into my eyes. Notice me, notice me, notice me. He passed by without a pause.
It wasn’t right. I felt like I had written a fairytale and, at the last minute, someone else was revealed as the princess and I was just an ordinary peasant with no lines. I angrily threw a piece of popcorn into my mouth, where it hit the back of my mouth and tried to escape down my windpipe. I choked, coughing and spluttering, finally sucking in air as it dislodged from my friend pounding on my back. As I blinked away the purple blobs in front of my eyes, I realised I wasn’t alone.
“Hey, cherry pie delight! I thought I saw ya there.” Elvis was crouched in the aisle by my chair. He gripped hold of my forearm on the armrest to keep his balance. “You okay, honey?”
Resigned to my new role as villager number 5 in my own story, I raised an eyebrow and said flatly, “You don’t remember my name, do you.”
“Baby, of course I do…” He was smiling, but he didn’t go on, because of course he didn’t. There had been thirty, fifty, one hundred different versions of me since then.
“It’s Annie.”
“I knew that, I was just testing ya.” He leant forward, pressed his lips against the curve of my ear, and sang a few lines of a song, ‘Work with me Annie, let’s get it while the getting’s good.” His voice, so plaintive and pleading in my ear, combined with the damp heat of his breath and the smell of him, sweetness and musk, made me feel like the seat I was squirming in had started melting.
“Well, I should be gettin’ back,” he said like he was chatting to a neighbour over the fence. He glanced down the aisle to where his date and his friends were sitting. “See ya later, Annie Pie Delight.”
My friend elbowed me, her eyes so wide that they flashed white even in the darkened theatre. I smiled, not needing to show my teeth, because I was mysterious and sophisticated now. Elvis Presley knew who I was. Sort of.
I couldn’t eat my popcorn, my fingers trembled when I dug my hand into the bucket and my stomach was twisted too tight anyway. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him down there in the dark, imagining a dark rope of longing knotted round my waist and tied to him.
Half the popcorn went on the floor when, out of nowhere, some tall, gangly boy with greased back hair tapped me on the shoulder.
“Hi there, Elvis wants to know if you wanna go for a ride.” It wasn’t really a question, we both knew that. I looked to my friend, who rolled her eyes in answer to the plea in mine. She snatched the popcorn from me before the rest ended up on the floor and almost threw me out of my seat.
The boy led me out to the foyer of the theatre, past the concessions. I could see the silhouettes of some unlucky fans standing by the glass doors, still hopeful that they would at least get to see their man at some point. When I was taken out of the side door and into the darkened parking lot, my neck began prickling with unease.
“Look, I’m not sure…” I felt so stupid. Some guy had probably seen Elvis stop and talk to me and had come to the conclusion that I was loose. And perhaps he was right if I rushed into this trap so willingly.
“Aw, don’t go getting cold feet on me now, Annie Pie, delight of my life.” A long shadow detached itself from the side of the building and stepped out into the pool of light by the side exit door. He adjusted the motorcycle cap on his head and grinned that lopsided smile, looking just like a picture on a record sleeve.
I hurriedly scanned the parking lot, checking that no one had heard him, knowing that as soon there was a whisper that he was out here, I would have lost him.
“I thought someone was pulling my leg,” I explained, glancing back to the boy, but he was already gone.
“Naw, I just gotta be sneaky if I want you to myself.” He came closer and my head tipped back trying to keep that face, that smile, in my sights. I felt him lock his arms around my waist, almost as tight as that invisible rope that we had between us, and jiggle me against him. A bolt of lightning ran up the inside of my thigh, terrifying me, though I didn’t know why.
“What about your date?” I asked, kicking myself. Don’t remind him, Annie, you fool!
“Well, I thought it would be better if it was just the two of us, baby, but if you want-“
“No!” I interjected, reaching out a hand to his chest and almost scrunched up his shirt in my fist. He smiled again, pressing his mouth against my cheek and nuzzling his nose along my temple.
“Then we’re on the same page, Annie Pie. C’mon, let’s go for a ride.” I shivered as he took my hand, his hot palm practically devouring me.
“Where’s your… car.” I exhaled as we stopped in front of a motorcycle. Even from ten miles away I could feel my mother’s horror. Annie Joan Hutchingson, don’t you dare!
“No car, baby, cars are for squares.” He winked as he walked round the bike.
I hesitated, imagining my mother finding out that I wasn’t actually sleeping over at my friend’s house when she was called to the hospital because I had been in a motorbike accident with Elvis Presley. If I didn’t die, she’d kill me.
“C’mon, honey, I’ll be Brando and you can be that sweet little gal he meets. You seen that movie, right?” He patted the seat behind him and pouted like I had the power to break his delicious heart.
“He rides a Triumph in that movie, not a Harley Davidson,” I said finally, tucking my skirt between my legs and awkwardly straddling the back of the bike. My thigh muscles contracted as they made contact with his butt, squeezing around his hips. A fire raged down my front, my nipples stiffened and tingled, and my belly clenched as my skirt slid on the leather seat, pushing my hips tighter into him.
“Huh, my girl knows her motorcycles,” he observed, sounding almost impressed. I didn’t tell him that no, actually I knew my fan magazines. “Hold on tight to me now, honey.”
The motorcycle roared into life, echoing around the parking lot, and bouncing off the nearby buildings. It matched perfectly to what was happening inside of me. With a jerk, we took off across the concrete, managing to cross the sidewalk and make it onto the road before the huddle at the front of the theatre understood what was happening.
The streetlights flickered by in a stream of colour as the wind caught my hair, my shirt and my skirt, making me billow and ruffle like I had wings. My fear of falling won out over my self-consciousness and I wrapped my arms around Elvis’s waist and draped myself against his slightly damp back like I had been poured there. With my cheek pressed tight between his shoulder blades, I could feel the steady, heavy thump of his heart and it mirrored the pulse between my legs. I pushed my hips forward slightly to relieve the ache and his stomach jolted beneath my fingers.
After a while, the spaces between the lights started to grow longer and Elvis steered the motorcycle off the road into a rest area. I tried to focus my eyes, adjusting to standing still, but I didn’t recognise where we were. Elvis, however, certainly seemed to know where he was, and he strolled over to a wooden picnic table, drumming his knuckles on it.
“I think you’re right,” I said, just to say something. “Motorcycles are much cooler than cars.” His lips spread into a smile, a secret, small one that revealed his dreamy cheekbones. He inclined his head, beckoning me over and I moved like he was tugging on that rope round my waist, helpless.
“There’s something about ‘em, ain’t there,” he murmured, as he placed his hands on my waist, one long finger at a time. “Get you all worked up, make you feel a little wild…”
He kissed me in an ambush and it didn’t feel like any other time before. My heart was racing as I tussled in his grip like my body was not sure if it was under attack. I got my forearms between us, shoving them against his chest until he stumbled back, breaking his lock on my waist.
We stared at each other, both of us panting. I thought he might be mad from the way that his eyes were narrowed on me, but I didn’t care because I thought I might be a little ticked off too, my jaw clenching and my muscles tensing like I wanted… something.
Slowly, his brow cleared and his eyes lightened again, twinkling in the moonlight.
“It’s okay, I ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he said playfully. “C’mon Annie Pie, we’re all friends here.”
In spite of my misgivings and my throbbing heart, I moved back over to him. I didn’t have a choice. He rubbed his warm palm down from my shoulder to my wrist and back up again, really slowly and carefully.
“See, you’re okay, baby. It’s just me, just little ole Elvis.” He gave me an encouraging smile when I nodded and then he placed his fingertips under my chin.
When he stooped down, he moved really slow so that I went cross eyed as I watched his hooded eyes and his luscious lips grow closer, but he stopped when our lips were barely touching, the cold tip of his nose grazing against my cheek. I waited and he still didn’t move; didn’t say anything either.
I could smell the exotic tang from the grease and oil in his hair, hear the uneven drags of air he was taking in and letting out, and feel the firm muscles in his arms beneath his jacket. He was trembling.
We were in a dangerous situation, I knew that. I had known that ever since I stepped foot into the parking lot of the movie theatre, but I considered now if the reason that it was so dangerous was the man stood pressed up against me, or if I was the hungry tiger stalking her prey. Only one way to find out. I surged forward.
Inside I was roaring louder than any motorcycle, our lips dragging and sliding, and his tongue caressing mine. My hands, which had started out cupping his neck had gradually migrated down, palming his chest, the gentle curve of his stomach, moving round to his hips and… Oh my lord, I was squeezing his ass. I broke away in mortification, taking a few stumbling steps back so that the gravel beneath my feet spilled over the heels of my sandals and pinched the soles of my feet.
“What happened?” His eyelids were droopy, he looked half-drunk somehow and even staggered slightly as he moved in to scoop me back up. “Don’t stop, darlin’. C’mon, lil Cherry Pie.”
I found myself grinning madly as he nuzzled my neck, his hands kneading my hips and my butt as he mumbled and murmured. I felt powerful, no longer the peasant, not even the princess. No, I was the Evil Queen, with all the power and riches that everyone else coveted. They all wanted him. And he, he wanted me.
The picnic table jabbed me in the back of the thighs and my arms windmilled slightly as I fell back. Elvis didn’t stop, lifting me up onto it and jamming himself in between my legs before they could close. His hands slipped under my skirt and prodded at the soft, sensitive skin along my inner thigh. Any minute now, he would discover my soaked underwear. I tried shuffling away, but he could bend and flex like no other boy I ever met.
I gasped out his name when I felt a callused finger slide into the slippery core of me and he giggled a little at the way I writhed on his hand, trying to escape.
“You really are a sweet little cherry pie,” he mumbled into my cheek. “Let’s keep it that way, huh, darlin’.” I let out a whoosh of air from my paralysed lungs when he drew back and he pulled my skirt back down over my knees and smoothed it down my shins. “You won’t let no one else do that to you, will you, baby? Only me. It’s just for me.”
With a mischievous smile and his eyes glinting, he rubbed his glistening finger along the pillow of his bottom lip and sucked it in.
“Mmm, cherry pie delight.” He hiccupped a silly laugh as I shoved him in the chest and made him stumble back a few steps.
Riding back along the highway to the movie theatre felt like a long goodbye. I pressed my head to the nape of his neck, inhaling the scent of his hair, his skin, his collar, committing them to memory. There was an ache in my chest telling me that this was it, that moments were all I had left. I pressed my lips to the seam at the back of his jacket and christened it with the salty tear that wended its way down my cheek.
The crowd outside the theatre must have heard us coming from blocks away, they were already racing to the parking lot as we pulled in and crowded around with no concern for their own safety.
Elvis gave my linked hands above his waistband a quick squeeze, before he was grinning for the fans, scrawling his name on their records, books, and arms. I stumbled from the back of the bike and walked back to the side door, eyes over my shoulder to see if he would look back even once. He didn’t.
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The third time I saw Elvis Presley was that autumn as I stood with the girls by the fence at Audubon Drive. Elvis had just come back from Hollywood and had some new friends with him. Some of the girls said that Natalie Wood was his girlfriend and that she was so crazy about him that she had followed him all the way back here.
It was after dinner when he finally came out, still wearing that silly cap. There were others with him, loud and excitable boys that talked really fast. I watched them making faces behind their hands and rolling their eyes as one girl was telling Elvis how much she had loved ‘Love me Tender’, that she had already seen it twelve times. He smiled at her, kind of bashful, and thanked her, saying that she and his parents were the only ones keeping it on the marquee.
When he got to me, I handed him the latest glossy that had been sent out by the fan club. It already had a printed signature on it, but I wanted the real thing.
“What’s your name, honey?” he murmured, glancing sideways as his friends started rough housing in the driveway.
“Annie,” I whispered. He scrawled on it, barely legible since he was busy yelling hints and tips to his friends cavorting about, ‘To Annie, Best Wishes, Elvis Presley.’
And those were the three times I saw Elvis Presley. I say saw, because I don’t think I ever really met him. But I saw him and that was enough.