The New Elvis (12 page)

“King me!” one of the girls on the porch shouted.

Ryan turned back and looked at the porch, then got in the front seat beside Noah. The sun was beginning to set amidst ribbons of lavender and blue as the trio located Rolling Hills and were given directions to Dr. Johns’s house.

Ryan punched the doorbell three times and then waited.

Inside, Logan debated whether or not to answer the door. His uncle had gone out for an early dinner with Nancy, so he was alone. He paced, holding Professor X, who finally meowed loudly. He looked down at him and smiled. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek.

The hinges on the door didn’t squeak, but the door opened so slowly, Bea felt a chill run down her spine. The four teenagers stared at each other for a moment before Ryan spoke up. “Hi, uh, does Dr. Johns live here?”

Logan stared at Ryan. Though he was dressed in jeans and a blue hoodie, he looked exactly like Elvis had back in the fifties. He nodded at them.

Ryan exhaled. “Oh, good. Is he here?”

Logan shook his head.

“What’s the matter?” Noah asked. “Did you lose your voice?”

Embarrassed, Logan flushed scarlet and shook his head.

Bea nudged him in the ribs. “Shut up, Noah. He’s probably mute.”

Logan shook his head at the pretty girl and then held up a finger. He went and got his tablet and typed a message. When he was done, he held it up to the screen door, but they couldn’t read it. Logan snapped on the porch light, but it didn’t help. Taking a chance, Logan unlatched the screen, stood back, and waved them in.

“Thanks, man,” Ryan said.

They were only a few feet into the foyer area. Logan handed Ryan the tablet as the Siamese cat circled their legs. Bea took her time and lowered her wracked frame into a crouch so she could see the cat better. She looked up at Logan. “What a beautiful cat. What’s his name?”

The dark-eyed boy nervously tucked a wave of chestnut hair behind his right ear and shook his head.

Bea clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I forgot.”

My uncle isn’t here right now
, Ryan read aloud.

He typed a message and handed the tablet back to Logan.

Do you know if he kept records from when he ran the clinic?
Logan read the note, shook his head, and passed the tablet back to Ryan. He knew about his uncle’s fertility clinic, and he had seen boxes of tapes and logs in his uncle’s study, but he’d never been interested in checking them out. He surmised Ryan wanted to know about his real father.

Noah was impatient. “Why don’t we go to the show at Bar Fifty-Six like you wanted and come back later?”

Logan perked up and stood taller. Bar Fifty-Six was a new lounge tucked a block off the strip, behind The Mirage. Every night, without fail—including holidays—they had a show featuring Elvis impersonators who specifically concentrated on 1956, the year Elvis made it big. The show ran an hour, and afterwards, they held an hour of Elvis karaoke, when audience members were invited to come up and sing Elvis songs for the crowd. Logan had wanted to go there ever since it opened.

Ryan noticed that Logan was interested, just as he himself was interested in securing an opportunity to meet the doctor. “You want to come with us, and then we’ll bring you back? Maybe your uncle will be home by then.”

Logan couldn’t help himself. He nodded vigorously, ran to grab a jacket, scribbled a hasty note he stuck to the fridge with a magnet, and rejoined them in the foyer. He had his own set of house keys that he’d never used, which were now in his pocket on a tiny, gold ring. These kids seemed to like him, and they didn’t seem to mind his silence. The idea of getting out of the house and going to a club was so intoxicating he was about to faint, but he kept putting one foot in front of the other and managed to make it out the door behind them.

It was a night none of the teenagers would ever forget. Bar Fifty-Six, a circular stucco building the color and texture of oatmeal, had a simple blue neon sign over the front double-door entrance, but inside, the theatre was dressed in rich, sumptuous black velvet, from the cushy seats to the drapes onstage. The bar in the lobby was well stocked, and Noah had no trouble getting four Yuengling Traditional Lagers—no glasses, thanks—for the group, but Logan shook his head when he saw the bottles, so Noah drank two, and Ryan and Bea had the others. They took took seats in the third row, behind two blue-haired ladies and an octogenarian with a glammed-up blond half his age.

Seated on the left in an aisle seat, Noah leaned toward Ryan. “There was a card in the lobby that said they showcase songs from 1956 through 1957, so I guess that gives you an extra year of material to work with.”

Ryan was surprised. “Who said I was going to sing?”

Seated on Ryan’s right, Bea laughed. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

On Bea’s right, Logan beamed. Including the year 1957 meant that
Elvis’ Christmas Album
would be part of the mix. He pulled out his tablet, typed a note for Ryan, and passed it to him.

Ryan squinted at the tablet in the dim light.
Sing “White Christmas”
.

He nodded in Logan’s direction and passed the tablet back to him just as the house lights went down. A Japanese Elvis impersonator stood at the microphone when the lights came back up, and the audience began to cheer and applaud.

Bea nudged Ryan. “Bet that’s your dad.”

Ryan laughed. “Yeah, we finally found him.”

Logan was glad the impersonator stayed true to what Elvis might have worn early on in his career. Japanese Elvis wore a red suit with a pink and red striped shirt and white shoes. He sang Aaron Schroder and Ben Weisman’s 1957 hit song, “Got A Lot O’ Livin’ To Do”, featured on Elvis’s
Loving You
LP. Closing his eyes as Japanese Elvis sang, Logan pictured his mom holding the album with its Easter egg blue background, Elvis’s face staring pensively at the camera, two slight wrinkles in his brow, his black hair impossibly thick and shiny with product.

Next up was chubby Elvis, a dark-haired man pushing forty, dressed in a brown suit, a pink shirt, and brown loafers. He sang Don Robertson’s ditty from 1956, “I’m Counting on You”, mopping his brow as he tried to swivel his hips. The album this song was on was still fresh in Logan’s mind. It seemed like just yesterday Ramona was sliding that slice of vinyl heaven out of its sleeve, the album cover featuring a black and white photo of Elvis playing guitar, his mouth wide open in song, “Elvis” in pink block letters along the left-hand side of the cover, “Presley” in green across the bottom.

African-American Elvis was up next. Correctly dressed, right down to his blue suede shoes, he shook, rattled, and rolled to the Carl Perkins classic and got a standing ovation from the crowd.

The procession of Elvis impersonators continued, as did the songs. Last up was the only female Elvis impersonator of the night, a gangly woman with a short haircut who chose to sing “First In Line” from the 1956 album
Elvis
. This was yet another album Logan remembered fondly. The cover art was as simple as the album’s title, utilizing a photo of Elvis shown in profile, wearing a striped shirt, chin tilted up, singing and playing guitar, the backdrop a firelit gold, his first name in red letters down the left-hand side. Logan thought, when he was younger, Elvis was singing to his first name on the album cover. The artwork made it look as though if he jumped forward a space, he could take a bite out of the “S”.

The female singer was only moderately good. Her voice wasn’t low enough, even though the song had been set in a higher key. Afterward, the emcee ran out, removed the microphone from the stand, and went over to the grand piano. “Who wants to sing?”

“He does!” Bea shouted, grabbing Ryan’s arm.

“This guy does!” Noah bellowed. He stood up and tried to pull Ryan to his feet.

The emcee squinted at them. “That guy? Well, OK, come on up!”

Ryan ran up the side stairs to the stage, where the emcee sized him up. “Well, you’re not dressed like Elvis, but you sure as shit look like him.”

The crowd applauded. Ryan, in his blue hoodie and jeans, took a bow.

“What are you going to sing?”

“Just a sec.”

Ryan went over to the pianist. “What songs were on
Elvis’ Christmas Album
?”

The pianist, a slender man with a soul patch, took a deep breath. “‘Blue Christmas’, ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’, ‘I Believe’, ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’, ‘It Is No Secret What God Can Do’, ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’, ‘Santa Claus Is Back In Town’, ‘Santa Bring My Baby Back To Me’, ‘Silent Night’, ‘Take My Hand Precious Lord’, and ‘White Christmas’.”

“Dude, do you know you just rattled those off in alphabetical order?”

“That’s how I remember them, kid.”

“‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ in the key of G.”

The pianist nodded, and Ryan walked to the center of the stage. The lights dimmed and turned blue. Though Ryan had never heard Elvis sing the song, his rendition sent shivers through Logan, who listened to the song every night before he slept.

“O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie! Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by. Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light. The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.”

Ryan smiled. He was certain he remembered the song in its entirety from church at Christmastime. “For Christ is born of Mary, and gathered all above. While mortals sleep, the angels keep their watch of wond’ring love. O morning stars, together proclaim the holy birth, And praises sing to God the King, and peace to men on earth!”

He looked out into the audience and was astonished to see not only Bea crying, but other people, as well. He kept going. “How silently, how silently, the wondrous Gift is giv’n; So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His Heav’n. No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin, where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in.”

Bea wiped her eyes. Noah moved a seat closer and took her hand.

“Where children pure and happy pray to the blessed Child, Where misery cries out to Thee, Son of the mother mild; Where charity stands watching and faith holds wide the door, The dark night wakes, the glory breaks, and Christmas comes once more.”

Bea reached out her other hand and took Logan’s. The three of them sat there, united in the moment, as Ryan finished the song.

“O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray; Cast out our sin, and enter in, be born in us today. We hear the Christmas angels the great glad tidings tell; oh, come to us, abide with us, our Lord Emmanuel!”

Bar Fifty-Six was silent for a heartbeat before it erupted.

A group seated in back began to chant, “Elvis, Elvis, Elvis!”

Ryan stepped down from the stage and was rushed by friends and strangers. Some reached out to grab him, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why. He thought he had done well, but the sheer force of goodwill surrounding him gave him pause.

The kitchen was dark, illuminated only by a slice of light from the Tiffany-style pendant chandelier over the round table in the dining area. Dr. Wendall Johns lifted the plastic magnet shaped like a slice of watermelon off the fridge and took his nephew’s note to the table, where he read it thrice and shook his head in disbelief. Logan never went anywhere, but the note was proof that change was in the air.

At Bar Fifty-Six with new friends. Back soon. Love, L
.

It was ten o’clock. His dinner with Nancy had been followed by a stroll through the shops at Caesars Palace. Wendall had been good friends with Nancy’s late husband and felt his friend might not be too upset Nancy and he had become close because things had remained strictly platonic. Nancy worked at Fremont Tech downtown and saved carefully to buy something fabulous once a year to add to either her home or wardrobe. Tonight, she selected a bright khaki, grainy nubuck leather and suede clutch with an ornamental fox head from Burberry that matched one of her favorite cool-weather coats. Warren picked up a box of pre-embargo Cuban Partagas from Colosseum Cigars, which he like to smoke on his open patio facing the golf course behind his home.

Warren was still at the table, thinking, when the front door opened and he heard a burst of excited chatter. In the foyer, Logan held up his hand so they’d wait. When he found his uncle, he grinned and disappeared, reappearing moments later with the three teenagers in tow. The kid who looked like Elvis spoke first, but Warren barely heard what he said. Counting back seventeen years, to the late eighties, he realized this magnificent young man must be Elvis and Zella’s son, and it took his breath away.

A pretty blond girl who stood between the miraculous young man and a sandy-haired tall kid stepped forward. It was clear to Warren she was repeating a question she’d already asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m Dr. Johns.” He rose halfway up from his club chair in greeting and then sank back down. “Please, have a seat.” The table seated six, so there was room for all of them if you included the invisible ghost of a legend who died in the summer of seventy-seven.

Noah sat directly across the table from Dr. Johns with Ryan and one empty seat to his left and Bea and Logan to his right. “We took Logan to Bar Fifty-Six.”

Dr. Johns picked up the note on the table. “Yes.”

Logan pulled his tablet from the inside pocket of his jacket and started typing.

“Thank you for the note on the fridge, Logan. I would have been worried if you hadn’t left one. That was considerate.” He accepted the tablet. It read:
I had fun
.

Warren typed,
really glad
, and passed it back to him.

Ryan placed his hands flat on the table. Mentally, Warren placed The King’s rings on the young man’s fingers. He put a treasure Elvis had bought backstage before one of his early concerts on Ryan’s ring finger, and the imaginary, fourteen-karat gold horseshoe with single-cut diamonds seemed to sparkle in the glow of the light from the stained-glass chandelier. Next, he placed an opulent ring on Ryan’s pinkie finger—a crystal opal surrounded by a cluster of diamonds. Elvis’s Rising Sun ring went on the young man’s other ring finger. It featured a horse head, designed after Elvis’s beloved Palomino in fourteen-karat gold, with diamond eyes and a diamond horseshoe around its neck. Ryan was speaking, but Warren didn’t hear him. Again, it was Bea’s voice that cut through his reverie. “We were saying, we think Ryan’s mother came to see you to try and get pregnant.”