Dream Angel : Heaven Waits (3 page)

“Why would anyone shoot a toilet?” I whispered.

“Aw, it never worked right, anyhow.” He rubbed his chin pensively.

“And…?”

“It was running all the time, keepin’ me awake.” He threw me an impish look.

I waited, thinking maybe there was more. His lips twitched with amusement, as he attempted to stifle one of his great laughs, and each moment that passed only escalated his amusement. Soon the sound of his chuckles spilled out into the foyer. I imagined the house swelling with happiness. His humor was always contagious, and I too, began to laugh openly. Our hysterics grew until a tour guide stepped back into the room with a look of befuddlement.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to keep moving along. We don’t want to hold up the line.” The young man was polite but firm.

Elvis and I looked around at the empty room and fell into another round of laughter. I held my hand up to hide my smile and tried to pull together a serious response.

“I understand. Sorry, I’ll move along.”

I began to make my way down the hall, toward the bedroom used by Elvis’ mother, but stopped when I heard Elvis growling from behind.

“Listen, son.”

I turned back to find Elvis, swiping at tears of laughter that were quickly drying with his change of expression.

“This is my house. She’ll do as
I
say!” His words were heated, and the crystal chandelier rattled over head.

The next scene played out before me like an Abbott and Costello meets the mummy skit. Elvis looked up and quickly stepped out of danger’s way, as though anything could harm him. The tour guide slowly turned his eyes upward as what little color he had drained from his face. I again started to laugh. The young man cracked and galloped right by Elvis as he rushed for the exit.

“Boo!” Elvis exclaimed and I swore I saw the usher flinch.

They say every King needs a castle, and at the age of twenty-two Elvis had found his in Graceland. With its sharp color pallet, and flamboyant furniture, Graceland is as unique as its owner. Every room has a theme, and every fan has their favorite. And, I was no different. While Elvis’ chuckles fell silent, I collected my own humor and continued down the corridor to his mother’s room, my favorite room at Graceland. A thick chain strung across the doorway to prevent visitors from actually entering. I practically laid my body against it as I leaned in to admire the rich colors.

The room’s lavish setting was a long way from Mrs. Presley’s humble beginnings in Tupelo. The bed was draped in rich amethyst silk. And a white Christmas tree, still decorated with purple ornaments, emphasized a regal feeling to the décor that would have made a queen feel at home. I marveled at the floor-to-ceiling violet curtains and matching bedspread.

What grace, I thought.
Was her son’s sudden wealth overwhelming?

“Yes, it was.” Elvis’ velvety voice broke into my thoughts.

I turned to find him leaning against the snow-white banister that led up to his private quarters. His gaze burned between us and added to his distinctive rebel-with-out-a-cause posture.

You left without a goodbye
, I internally sulked.

“That’s because it wasn’t,” he said in a rather flippant tone. I could feel myself pouting, but stopped when Elvis jetted out his own lips in an exaggerated mope.

For a time, I had wondered if angels could listen to our thoughts. Elvis had proven in the past that he could do just that, yet I had never directly asked.

“Do you listen to
all
my private thoughts?” I said, hoping to sound confident, and in charge of my escalating emotions.

His eyes sparkled. “Not all.”

“Oh?” I walked towards him with all the poise I could muster.

He stood up straighter and pushed out his chest but did not stop my approach. As I drew near, any frustration I may have previously felt melted over the sight of him taking in the view. His attention lingered in all the right places starting with my eyes and progressing south. I yearned to feel his arms around me and taste his lips, but when I saw him smirking, I stopped just beyond his reach.

You’re listening now, aren’t you?
I taunted, and a half grin slid across his face as if someone had just whispered a secret in his ear.

My insides quivered from the thrill. I felt alive in his presence, whole, as if he were the missing piece to my personal puzzle. I wasn’t sure if it was being close to an angel, to the man himself, or to God that had brought me that feeling but I liked it.

“Your thoughts are safe with me, honey. Cross my heart and hope to die.” He drew a finger across his chest.

“A little late for
that
isn’t it?” I stepped in closer, and enjoyed that smile of his widening to expose those pearly white teeth and deep dimples.

He was as stunning as a chiseled Greek god.

“I only peek when you do this.” He mimicked my sullen expression, while pushing the outer edges of my lips into a smile.

I slapped at his fingers.
Stop, now, someone will see
.

“Ok, honey,” he whispered in a deep husky voice that mesmerized me.

I refocused to Elvis’ long slim fingers, wrapped around my hand, as he turned to lead me away from his mother’s room. His grip was light but solid, and I briefly wondered how nobody else seemed able to see him and yet I was holding his hand. Glancing around, I was relieved to find we were still alone and could hardly wait to properly say hello.

As giddy as a school girl, I withheld my need to skip in step, and watched with curiosity as he lifted a leg over the privacy ropes at the bottom of the oversized staircase that led upstairs. He paused to scoot an arrangement of poinsettias with the tip of his black boot as he positioned his feet carefully on the first step.

“Where are we going?” I asked over my pounding heart.

“We need to talk,” he said matter-of-fact.

I swallowed hard. “You want to talk? Up there?”

We both looked upward toward the white door at the top.

“What’s wrong with up there?” He let go of my hand, and looked down at me with a disquieting expression.

Suddenly, I was like a runaway car headed down the freeway in the wrong direction. “I-I just thought maybe you’d have found a different place to…uh… conduct business?” I threw out my first thought wishing life had a rewind button.

“Well now, honey, it’s suited my, what’d you call it, “business” in the past, why should I change now?”

A twinge of misery pierced my heart. This was not the reunion I had hoped for, searched for. I had imagined long hours spent in one another’s arms, angels singing and the sky parting over us. The controlled down-to-business man standing before me was a far cry from the hungry lover that had once held me. How could I have been so wrong? I silently scolded myself, my pride thrashing about and drowning in a self-made pool of expectation. My tears began to pool.

The front door to Graceland was directly behind me, and I cursed myself for wanting to run. Pressing a finger to my temple, I lowered my head and headed for the formal diner room. A glass-topped dining table and high-backed chairs overpowered the tiny room. And I stopped near the tour ropes to draw a calming breath before glancing nervously around me. He was nowhere to be seen, but I knew he was near. I stood up straight when I heard footsteps.

“Baby girl, what’s going on here, really?” He asked gently while turning me to face him.

The sound of my childhood nickname spoken from his lips made the tiny hairs along my arms stand up. Still, I looked away, unwilling to meet his piercing stare.

“Your family would disapprove,” I pleaded principles.

Convincing him my defiance was forged out of respect seemed more believable and less embarrassing than admitting my girlish fantasies were crumbling around me. Besides, if we had this “talk,” what then, I feared the worst.

A new round of visitors filed alongside us, headed for the kitchen. I fidgeted uncomfortably while waiting for the group to pass. Elvis studied me, and his gaze felt heavy. Tense seconds passed into minutes as I waited.

“Alright honey, we’ll do it your way,” Elvis stepped closer to my side and pointedly added, “this time.”

He leaned into my view, forcing me to look at him. Daring to glance up, I only briefly saw the grin that lingered around the edges of those sweet lips. He gathered my hands with his two, and gave me a tender squeeze.

“Meet me in front of Graceland, tonight at midnight?”

Despite my humiliation, I nodded my agreement.

“Good girl,” Elvis lifted my hands to his lips for a tender kiss and paused. “Come alone.”

His deep blue eyes held mine, but this time it was I who studied him. Exactly whom was he referring to, I wondered, and then before I could stop it Steve’s features flashed. I cringed, quickly pushing the vision away, but it was too late. A tiny smile flickered across Elvis’ lips.

He kissed my hand, and then left the kitchen.

My skin felt hot where his lips had only briefly touched. “W-what should I do now?” I spoke aloud in the emptiness.

“You know the way out.”

Elvis crossed the dining room and stopped to look about. He smiled, still moved by the grace in Graceland.

“You won’t finish the tour with me?”

“I’ve seen it.” He chuckled and continued out into the foyer.

Not wanting to let him go, I followed close on his heels. I stumbled inside his gate as he lifted one long leg at a time over the privacy ropes, landing once again on that first stair tread leading up the main white staircase.

“You sure you won’t change your mind now, honey?” He joked, pointing a finger upward. My silence was his answer.

Smiling boyishly, he shrugged and continued up the stairs.

“Elvis.” I called out to him anxiously.

“I’ll be there, Samantha.” He said sternly, without even a glance back.

He turned at the first landing and continued the climb. The front doors of Graceland opened behind me, and a new crowd of visitors entered. I watched the smiling faces of fans entering their idol’s home. In the space of a heartbeat, I turned back to the king of this castle, but he had vanished.

The cold stung my face as I walked against a northern gust down Elvis Presley Boulevard. The traffic buzzed, but I did not see it. Car tires pulsated against the pavement, pushing through standing water, and seemingly harmonizing with the throbbing inside my head. I pressed a finger against my temple and looked down at my watch with a sigh. My stomach churned. It was not even noon yet. Too many hours of the day remained, and without a diversion I would surely spend each second torturing myself with the finer points of what had just happened. Why Elvis had been so formal continued to unnerve me. “Business” was not his favorite subject, every fan knew this. I knew this. Historically, Elvis disliked convoluted matters.

My every step felt surreal as the question of “why” kept circling. The mystery was relentless. I walked on autopilot, muttering along in rain drops the size of tears, and spurting out ideas in a stream that was as constant as stock market ticker tape was long. Thankfully, nobody was around to hear my rambling. I walked alone, and without an umbrella, staying dry was futile. My coat was soon soaked, and my whole body was quickly drenched. I did not care.

A shiver ran down my spine while I shuffled up the entrance to my hotel. I entered and shook off the rain and cold, but my shoulders still felt weighted down. Trudging along, I walked past the bellhop who glanced casually at me, and then did a double-take.

“Good day.” I said passing by the service counter, my shoes squeaking on the lobby floor and a trail of water in my wake.

Although I tried to ignore the stares of every patron I passed, their faces told me all I needed to know about my appearance. I realized that for the first time in my life, I understood the phrase about feeling worse than one looks. I pulled back my shoulders, stuck out my chin, and forced myself to walk in unhurried steady steps towards the elevator. Strands of hair stuck to my face, and I brushed them away calmly as if I had no idea why everyone could possibly be gaping.

My face flushed as I repeatedly pushed the button for the elevator. I was about to give up my vigil and take the stairs when I heard a familiar voice.

“Look what the cat drug in,” said a goading tone. I closed my eyes.

Bracing myself, I turned and forced a smile in Heather’s direction.

“A flight left Atlanta that quickly, did it?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Heather squinted and began to walk toward me.

She reached out and touched the sleeve of my dripping jacket. Glancing down, her smile dropped at the sight of puddles around my feet. I frowned.

“What did you do, walk from Graceland in a monsoon?”

My lips pressed together in a thin line as I turned back to the elevator and continued to press the button.

“You did.”

“Must you tell everyone?” I grumbled.

“You think everyone is blind?” She waived her hand in an exaggerated circle.

The elevator doors opened, and I jumped inside, turning the corner to get out of view. I hit the floor call button with zeal. The door jerked forward, and as stealthy as a cat, Heather followed me in just before it closed.

“Are you trying to leave me behind?”

“Never,” I said rich with sarcasm.

I gave my wet locks a good shake and purposely flung water around the elevator like a lawn sprinkler on a hot summer day. Heather quickly shielded her face.

“You’re like a wet dog.” She brushed quickly at the droplets of water across her arms. “Aw, now look what you did.”

When she glanced up, our eyes met only briefly before her gaze narrowed to her nose. I watched as a droplet of water trickled down to the tip and tittered. Neither of us moved, and a flicker of laughter gleamed in both of our eyes. History has proven that we could never be mad at each other for long, and soon we began to laugh. I extended my arms. Heather stepped into my hug out of reflex, realizing her error too late.

“Wait!” She lifted up both hands.

Before she could screech another protest, I nabbed her, and squeezed her against my wet jacket. The water gushed out of my clothes, soaking in to hers.

“Ah, man.” Her body went limp.

Distracted by our game, we suddenly noticed we had reached our floor and the door had opened. Our mouths dropped open as we realized how we looked to the two young men standing across from us in the hallway, smiling lasciviously. Heather reacted first.

“Hey, get off me!” She pushed me away and stomped out of the elevator and down the hallway.

I stepped past the men and gave them a wink before leaving. As if she had eyes in the back of her head, Heather turned and glared back at me. I held up my hands in a sign of surrender. She flipped the side of her hair that was now almost as wet as mine, and grunted before continuing down the hall. I laughed and followed her to my room.

We simultaneously stopped at my door and glanced back at the elevator to see the two men still staring at us. Heather paused to bat her eyes at them before entering the room, and then rolled her eyes as she passed me. I waved before closing the door with a slam that shook the walls.

“Are we even now?” Heather asked, while shaking out her shoulder length blonde hair with a hand.

“I’ll consider it.” I headed for the bathroom, pausing to smile triumphantly at her before closing the bathroom door.

***

I was re-energized when I stepped out from the steamy bathroom, a towel wrapped tightly around my hair. I was surprised to see Heather changed and refreshed in dry clothes. Glancing around, I noticed her bags next to the unoccupied bed.

“They let you into my room?”

“The nice bellhop brought my bags up while I waited.”

“What if I didn’t want you in here with me?”

“It’s Memphis.” Heather said with a shrug.

She had a point. Memphis was a different sort of town. Life here dawdled. Even the locals seemed oblivious to the city on full tilt around them, I considered, while walking to the vanity station to brush out my long dark hair.

“What?” I said to her mirror reflection, instead of turning to face her.

Heather crossed one leg over the other and folded her arms across her chest. Her silence stung me more than our normal routine of bickering and jousting.

“You came here, remember.” I lowered my gaze.

Rising from the bed, Heather crossed the room and stood next to me. We both gazed in the mirror. Neither of us wished to face the other as we each tried to find the words that would make a complex situation simple.

“How are you feeling, really?” Her voice was soft with concern.

“I have a headache.” I muttered.

“Maybe you should call your doctor.”

“It’s normal.”

“You do remember recovering from a head injury less than six month ago, don’t you? A little thing called a coma?”

“I said its
normal
.”

“Normal? Well, after seeing you back there, I’m even more worried. Why are you here?” She sighed.

“I love him.”

“And.”

“And, I’m messing it all up.” I sighed, ignoring Heather’s look of confusion.

She deserved to hear the morning’s events. After all, she had come a long way. How could I not tell her about what I had experienced? She was my closest friend, and up until now she knew all my secrets. I wanted to tell her. I subconsciously relaxed my shoulders just toying with the idea of confiding.

“I went to the café across from Graceland to meet with Steve after we spoke, hoping for a miracle, a sign.”

Heather’s expression fell flat, and I paused to scour her face for some hint of what she was thinking, but she gave away nothing.

“
He
was everywhere, in every photo, those magnetic blue eyes always watching me.” As I talked, we took a seat at the two-person table near the window.

“Elvis.” Heather followed closely.

“Steve seemed to sense
him
or… or maybe it was my love for him that he could feel, I don’t know,” I exhaled extra hard.

“What
exactly
did you and Steve discuss?” Heather set her mouth in a hard line.

“He asked me why this man I loved so much was not with me, and…” I stopped, unsure if I wanted to share Steve’s reaction to me leaving.

“And… what else?”

Heather believed me to be a little naive when it came to men. It was not too far from the truth.

“Nothing important, really.”

“He’s asking rather personal questions for a man you just met, don’t you think?” Heather’s gaze held mine.

“Maybe, but there was something comforting, familiar about Steve when we first met, and I sort of…,” I paused as shame began to tighten my chest. “…jokingly flirted with him.”

“You did what?” Heather’s voice rose.

“I guess a part of me thought maybe…”

“Don’t tell me. You believe in jealous angels?” Her tone was flat.

I exhaled, embarrassed to realize my best friend most likely saw me for what I now felt I was: a hopeless female.

“I don’t know what I think anymore.” I ran a hand through my hair.

“This story gets crazier every time we speak, Samantha. First a coma,” Heather’s voice lowered with what I guessed was guilt or regret, “which triggers a visit by an angel, and now this, a spontaneous journey chasing ghosts. Can someone please tell me where my level-headed friend went?”

Heather was on a rant, and I quickly looked away, knowing full well how this all sounded.

“I’m right here. I’m just a little… love sick.” I avoided using words like “foolish” and “impulsive,” though they surely fit.

“Please Samantha, let’s just leave… tonight.” Heather’s voice softened.

“I can’t. Not without him,” I stood up, walked back to the mirror and began brushing out my hair in long, even strokes.

Heather watched in silence. She had that faraway look she often got in her eyes when contemplating a problem.

“What happens now?”

“He’s asked that I meet him tonight at midnight,” I said.

“Steve?” Her eyebrows drew together in to a scowl.

Turning, I gave her a withering look.

“Elvis. Yes, of course.” Heather raised her hands into the air.

For the better part of an hour, I attempted to explain the rest of the morning to Heather. She listened as I explained how my angel at first seemed thrilled to see me, his eyes shining with love upon our reunion. Or so I thought. Apart from his natural fondness of flirting and his sensitivity to my puppy-love-like condition, his intentions seemed set on business.

“Maybe he’s trying to be a good little angel,” Heather rationalized. “You know, make up for practically jumping you in the shower last time he was in your home.”

I rolled my eyes. It was easy for her to see things so clearly. Heather had never witnessed the charm of Elvis Presley first-hand. She had never felt those piercing sapphire eyes, reaching deep into her soul while he gave her his full attention. He had a way of treating everyone like they were the only person on earth. If there was ever a human being one could be addicted to, it was him.

“He can be “good” all he wants, as long as he stays.” I mumbled more to myself.

“It’s only two o’clock. What are we going to do until Midnight?” Heather glanced at her watch.

“I don’t know… lunch?” I said off-handedly.

“Perfect. I know a great place to order a spectacular adult beverage.”

I chuckled at my friend’s never-ending quest for the world’s best martini.