Dream Angel : Heaven Waits (8 page)

I looked to the “must-have-ticket” sign.

“Ah, ignore that.”

When I sat, he did not allow for any extra space between us. He merely lifted his arm and encircled my shoulders to bring me closer. Finally I was in his embrace, and my whole body seemed to sigh as I reclined against his sturdy chest, savoring the feel of his warm cheek against my own. This was what I required, what I needed, I thought as I closed my eyes to relish in the moment.

“Comfy?” His breath tickled my ear.

“M-m-m,” I purred while my blood warmed with ease as it always did when I was so close to this dreamy man.

Slowly, he rocked us in the stillness of the morning. Of all my experiences in my young life, this moment could easily have been considered my best, my heaven on earth. Everything was perfect. We were alone. The birds were whistling a tune all around us, celebrating the sunshine that made the chill that much more bearable, and I felt safe.

This was what I'd wanted back at Graceland
. The thought came before I could stop it.

“Are you telling me, Samantha Lynn, that after all your antics all you wanted from me was a hug?” His chest rumbled with a hearty chuckle as I let out a heavy sigh.

“It would have been a good start,” I teased and felt Elvis’ lips brush my flushed cheek.

“You do realize baby girl if we were to, uh,” he cleared his throat in my ear, “indulge in our human weaknesses, our situation would only become further complicated?”

I was both distracted by his admission of having considered such desires while simultaneously puzzled over what exactly “our situation” was. I could not decide which mystified me more, why he came back or when he would leave. All I knew was his evitable departure felt like an anvil of doom hanging over my head. It swung ever so slowly, reminding me there were still so many words left unsaid between us. I’d escaped it once, but could I do it again?

The last thing I wanted to hear was an angelic version of a Dear John speech spoken from his lips. I decided right then, if I had anything to say about it, I would avoid this “talk” my angel was so frantic to have back at Graceland.

“Now Samantha, I want you to promise me, no more stunts.” Elvis’ voice suddenly turned serious.

“What? Of course not,” I fumbled, batting my eyes and wondering which of all my actions, exactly, qualified as “stunts”. Probably, all of them!

“Samantha, promise me now,” he demanded, not at all distracted by my efforts to appear innocent.

I nodded, careful not to speak words that I might not be able to keep.

“No. I want hear you say it.” He slowed the swing.

“Okay, okay I’ll behave,” I said, and secretly crossed my fingers on both hands while he hugged me tighter.

Satisfied, Elvis returned to swaying us once again. And when he began to hum a little tune, my content smile grew wider. I'm not sure if this random singing was a conscious act, a habit, or a way of relaxing more than anything else, but I was so entranced by the reverberation of his voice, I was instantly lulled into a dreamland. I went limp in his arms, brought back to reality when, to my surprise and right in the middle of the song, he lightly kissed the base of my neck. What was that for? I pondered while the feel of his soft full lips woke my desires, and I resisted the urge to turn and taste his mouth.

“What’s your job in heaven?” I strategically shifted course.

“Again with this
job
business,” he muttered and picked up my left hand.

I bit down on my lower lip as I watched his hand engulf mine, and his long tapered fingers entwine with my own.

“Well, how about your heavenly task then? My father preaches we’ll all have one, you know.”

“Your hands are so delicate honey, just like the rest of you.” He said, now rolling my fingers over in his hand, and inspecting each one with interest.

Once satisfied, he kissed them, and then placed my hand on top of his knee. He held it there, and his leg bounced with untamed energy under my palm. The air around us felt electric, and I couldn’t help but imagine what all that vigor might accomplish when properly focused.

“I bet you follow God around all day singing to his every step,” I added, hoping to break the spell that was spinning my head. “That’s it, your God’s theme music!”

My idea must have tickled him, because he dropped my hand, and placed a firm but quick peck to my cheek.

“I do sing honey, but everyone sings in heaven.” He tilted his head so that he could see my face. “And, Heaven’s work starts right here on earth, you know.”

“I-I don’t think I’ve been called to do anything special.”

“Honey, everyone’s called. It’s just a matter of listening.” As he spoke, he curled dark strains of my hair around his finger. A quiver corkscrewed down my spine.

“Even me?”

“Especially you,” he whispered hot against my ear.

What a flirt, I thought, and caught a glimpse of his smile. Admittedly, I loved our easy banter. We had this game we’d play. I’d act like I didn’t want his attention, and he’d try harder. It was childish, and usually reserved for the playground, but we enjoyed it. The problem was, on this day, he really was driving me mad.

“Do you know what my calling is?” I prayed that he had missed the crack in my voice.

“Baby, you smell so good,” he growled and snuggled closer, burying his nose deep in my hair. “I’d forgotten.”

He wasn’t playing fair, but that was no surprise. Sure, Elvis had a quirky sense of humor, but he knew exactly what he was doing which only made me dig my heels in even more.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” I said with a flat tone, hoping to suggest I was unmoved yet my jaw hurt from the clenching of my teeth.

When he unraveled me from his embrace, he stood, and just stared at me for a moment. “Nope,” he finally said, smiling over me. I couldn’t help myself, I stuck out my tongue but his grin only widened.

As he drew in a deep chest-widening breath, he gave me a wink, hoisted up his pants, and stepped off the porch. Without looking my way, he held out his hand and I didn’t hesitate to take it.

“Let’s get you home, baby girl.”

As we sped through the miles of predictable highway, soulful music filled the Escalade. As sad as it was, the blues guitar on the local radio station soothed me. I watched Elvis as he drove. He tapped lightly on the steering wheel, keeping with the beat. He had a smile on his face, but his eyes remained unreadable and shaded behind a pair of trendy aviators.

I was pondering what my heavenly job might be when my stomach interrupted with a thought of its own.

“When was the last time you ate?” Elvis turned toward me, but the dark tint kept his eyes hidden.

“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.