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codalysssssworld · 1 month

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EXACTLY!! 🙌

Someone finally said what i was always thinking, no hate or anything but I just could necer understand her at all.

Like how do you say like four different things every time? Gets my annoyed,sheesh … all honesty i just feel like she just was so inmature and just spoiled… i have so many to say nut I’ll keep it short .! 🤷🏻‍♀️🙃

This may be a prickly subject, and I'm sorry if so. But I'm trying to learn more about Elvis, and every time I bring him up to people I know, they try to tell me he was this terrible person, and point me toward Priscilla's book, the movie made on it, and the discourse. Idk if you've talked about it on here (I tried searching your blog but couldn't find anything on it). If you're willing, I'd love to hear your take on it so I can see a more nuanced view.

The film Priscilla was greenlit roughly a month after Priscilla herself was informed that she was close to becoming financially insolvent in 2022. With a business partner, Brigitte Kruse, who allegedly helped broker the film deal, she established a limited liability company called Priscilla Presley Partners that was supposed to use her image and likeness to create several lines of merchandise to coincide with the film's release. That business partner is now suing Priscilla because she did not have the rights to her image or likeness, or any ability to use the Presley name, because she had already sold all of those rights and was no longer considered in good standing with Graceland or Elvis Presley Enterprises. The entire business deal, then, according to the lawsuit, was built on her misrepresentation of how much her image was worth.

The deal between the two of them fell apart after Riley Keough, Lisa Marie's daughter and Priscilla's granddaughter, settled with Priscilla to give her a lump sum of $1 million from Lisa Marie's estate and yearly amounts of $100,000. Priscilla sued very shortly after Lisa Marie's death because she thought Lisa Marie's signature on a will had been forged because Priscilla was not included in it. All of the assets were supposed to go directly to Lisa Marie's son, Benjamin Keough, who died in 2020, and her three daughters, two of whom are still teenagers. Now, part of those assets have been claimed by Priscilla and her other son, Navarone, who has no connection to the Presley family and has stated he is glad Lisa died.

Four months before Lisa's death, Lisa wrote to Sofia Coppola and made it clear she had strong concerns about the Priscilla film and was suspicious of the intentions behind it:

"As his daughter, I don’t read this and see any of my father in this character. I don’t read this and see my mother’s perspective of my father. ... I will be forced to be in a position where I will have to openly say how I feel about the film and go against you, my mother and this film publicly."

Lisa was enormously grateful for efforts put into 2022's Elvis to find her father's soul and to restore his dignity in a world that often turns him and his family into a joke:

"You can feel and witness Baz’s pure love, care, and respect for my father throughout this beautiful film, and it is finally something that myself and my children and their children can be proud of forever."

It is such a strong and powerful statement, to see how much Lisa valued family, not just her father but her own children and their legacy, and how willing she was to speak up no matter what was going on in her personal life to say what was right. On this and many other things, Lisa and Priscilla's values have rarely been in alignment. A friend and EPE business associate, Joel Weinshanker, said of her, "Lisa couldn't be bought, she couldn't be pushed. If she felt that something wasn't in Elvis' best interest, it was never about money. And she really is the only Presley that you could say that about."

Priscilla, though, has adjusted her stories about her time with Elvis almost every time she discusses it. For a quick example, she said in her book, which was released in 1985, that Elvis insisted she do her hair and makeup a certain way, that he had control over her look and would get upset if she didn't dress how he wanted. But in an interview with Ladies' Home Journal in 1973, she said that she made a deliberate choice to attend makeup school so that she could learn how to style herself, and that it was her idea to wear big, black hair and big, black eyeliner. She said she was embarrassed for going overboard. She said, "I wish that Elvis had said something, but he must have liked it because he never commented." This lines up with recollections from Patti Parry, a platonic friend of Elvis' and a hairstylist, who said Priscilla always wanted Patti to do her hair in a "big boombah," but that Priscilla would then get upset when Elvis didn't notice or didn't like it.

These changes are impossible not to notice if you follow her for any length of time. At the film premiere, she said it felt just like watching her life and said she was consulted on everything, since she was an executive producer. After the film came out, she said she couldn't understand why Coppola had changed so much about the story and misrepresented events. In the '70s, she said she and Elvis lived almost totally separate lives, that she came and went as she pleased, and that she loved this freedom. Later, she said she felt completely stifled and trapped and never left the house, even though she had friends she went out with all the time. In 2019, she tweeted a forceful denial about a National Enquirer story: "This is the Enquirer folks... please don't believe everything you read. ... Never planned on being buried next to Elvis. What will they come up with next?" But part of her settlement demands in her lawsuit against Riley in 2023 asked "to be buried next to Elvis." This year, she said in two separate interviews that Lisa was with her when Elvis died and that Priscilla had to break the news to her, despite the fact that Lisa was at Graceland when it happened. She has said she gave Elvis the idea to wear belts on his jumpsuits, to have a lightning bolt as his logo, to sing "An American Trilogy," though none of that is true. She retells the story about forcing Elvis to burn all of his spiritual books to prove he loved her as an almost funny anecdote about debrainwashing him, while Elvis later said it was the worst thing he ever agreed to, a desperate attempt to make her happy by giving up the things he valued the most. (For the record, this is my opinion about their relationship on both sides: thinking they could change themselves and each other to make it work. It never did.)

Every secondhand Elvis account has to be treated lightly and only valued for its consistency with known facts and other witnesses. I try to give enormous benefit of the doubt to anyone in the Elvis world because they often only have partial knowledge of what Elvis may have been thinking at any given time, and there are numerous examples of people who were taken advantage of by unscrupulous journalists who changed the story they wanted to tell. But Priscilla's stories sometimes are not even consistent with her own statements, which makes them very poor options indeed to base anything on. However careful we are about noting potential biases and inaccuracies in other memoirs, we have to be triply, quadruply careful with anything in which Priscilla involves herself because she has a vested interest in generating discourse today in order to make money. Unfortunately, Priscilla has a habit of stifling other accounts or making sensationalized statements each time there is a possibility that she will lose some of the cache that comes with being an Elvis Source—after Elvis' death, when she believed she was going to inherit his airplane and disinvited everyone that Vernon said could fly in it to his funeral; when she sued the parents of one of Elvis' ex-girlfriends after he died because he had allowed them to live rent-free in a house he bought for them; when she claimed that Elvis wanted to reunite with her before his death, despite the fact that he was engaged to someone else and told many people he couldn't see a reunion ever happening with her; before Vernon's death, when she convinced him to make her an executor of the Presley estate until Lisa came of age; after Lisa came of age, when she convinced Lisa to let her stay on as partner; when Lisa accused Priscilla of misspending Lisa's money, during which time anonymous sources cropped up to say Lisa was in debt and drug-addled; when Priscilla was removed from her position as an EPE spokesperson but kept collecting $900,000 a year from the company; when Lisa died, and Priscilla sued once she learned she wasn't in the will; when Priscilla was no longer associated with EPE and decided to do another adaptation of a book that she has since recanted parts of and has contradicted before and after its release.

When Priscilla thinks there is a threat to her image and position, she does new interviews and projects to muddy the waters and stir public interest, whether it is true or false, positive or negative, laudatory or defamatory. She gets corrected by Elvis' surviving family members, girlfriends, friends, and fans, but these stories do not get the same reach no matter how much they are backed by contemporaneous documents and witnesses, or how many resources there are to educate the public on how Elvis' and Priscilla's attitudes about marriage and relationships changed—along with the rest of society—between 1960 and 1970.

I think almost any single-source project is not going to advance our understanding of Elvis in any way because no one individual can speak for him, and we are kind of obligated to include all the context we can in order to appreciate his character, his successes and failures, flaws and virtues—and to treat both himself and those around him as fully three-dimensional people who have their own blind spots. Priscilla is far too aware of her own image, and far too willing to change it to suit the audience, to be particularly valuable here.

She is next scheduled to appear at the Lexington (Kentucky) Comic & Toy Con.

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codalysssssworld · 2 months

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Nights of Endless Love part 5

The fifth part of a fic set in Vegas in 1971 at the start of Elvis' first residency that year. Many thanks to @vintagepresley as always for the idea and also for the input as I go along. And thanks for reading such a monster of a fic, I am not sure it will ever end.

Finally we have reached SMUT. Actually I looked back over the other parts and there has been a lot before, but what I really mean is finally we have reached the smut we were waiting for.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

18 and over only. This is a smut-fest.

Pairing: Elvis + Vegas showgirl

Wordcount: 3.5K ish

TW: Swearing, angst, infidelity, fingering, oral (m receiving) SMUT SMUT SMUT.

(Could I say smut any more? I think so. Smut.)

Author note: The Bo Diddley song is Mona (I Need You Baby) - I have linked it below. It’s not actually a very sad song but I imagine Elvis giving it the full on blues treatment. It’s also apparently written for a 45-year-old exotic dancer who worked at the Flame Show Bar in Detroit (named Mona, obvi).

Elvis is a mess. He’s sure he’s never felt so lonely, he barely talks to the guys and he’s been very strict about being on his own at night. He hates it, but he thinks he probably deserves it. He thinks about her a lot, when he’s lying in his bed and she isn’t beside him. He wants her back.

On the first day he sends a dozen red roses, but he doesn’t hear from her. He supposes he wasn’t really expecting her to come running back just because of some flowers. He rings Lowell and asks him to fly out before the show, so he can pick out some jewellery for her. He fiddles around with his little book of numbers, wondering how he’s going to pick the right one since he doesn’t know when her birthday is. It never came up in their talks. Then he thinks back to the date they met, the 26th of January. That will have to do. And according to the book, that means she should have a sapphire. He fiddles around with the rings on his own fingers as he wonders what size would fit her. How can he find out?

“Charlie”

“Yes E,” Charlie picks up the phone and answers eagerly. Perhaps Elvis has got over this girl and wants to go gambling or something.

“I need to find out what size ring Mia wears.”

Charlie screws up his face in frustration. Not only has he not got over this girl, now Elvis is giving him the impossible task of finding out what size ring she wears.

“Okay E. How, uh… how do you think I can find that out for you?”

“Well I was hoping you were going to think of that Charlie.”

“Hmmm. Well maybe I’ll ask Joe, he was the one always driving her around.”

“Godamnit Charlie. If it wasn’t for Joe I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Yeah but maybe he can help you out of it? Look I’ll ask him and maybe I can try asking one of her friends. Who does she hang around with?”

“Amanda. Blonde hair, very cheerful.”

“Okay. Leave it with me E.”

Eventually Charlie tracks down someone who has some kind of idea what size rings Mia wears, and Elvis buys one and asks Lowell to take it to her personally. But it doesn’t help. When Lowell comes back he says that she’d taken it from him, but she’d told him to tell Elvis that rings and roses didn’t make up for what he’d done. Elvis doesn’t really listen, sending Lowell with another ring and a necklace, and sending more flowers and even a fur coat. She doesn’t refuse any of them, which gives him some hope, but she still won’t see him. He’s strangely afraid to just turn up after one of her shows, even though he thinks about doing it. He really doesn’t want her to reject him again. He’s not sure he can take it. There just must be a way of getting her back he hasn’t thought of.

He’s about to send Lowell for the third time, when the ever-patient jeweller (who is also very keen to get back to his shop in Memphis by this point, no matter how much Elvis is spending) makes a suggestion.

“If you don’t want to talk to her, have you thought about writing your feelings down in a letter?”

It’s simple, and he could almost kick himself for not thinking of it. He struggles to begin with. He starts and stops and screws up pieces of paper and throws them at the wall repeatedly. He’s starting to get angry with himself, at his inability to express how he really feels, and then suddenly he’s writing and it’s just flowing out of him. He writes about how lonely he is all the time, but when he’s with her he forgets about his loneliness and she makes him feel alive and wanted and like the things he says matter. But then when she leaves the loneliness is ten times as bad, and that’s why he asked Kathy to come round and keep him company at night, because he can’t stand waking up alone. He knows he shouldn’t have done it. He writes about how much he longed for her touch, how hard it was for him to be with her and not hold her, how much he wanted to kiss her. Still wants to kiss her. He tells her he’s sorry, over and over again, and begs for her forgiveness. And he even says that he will try and do things without the guys from now on, take responsibility for his own actions when it comes to women. Well, not women. There is only one woman he wants, he tells her. Only one.

And true to his word, he goes alone to the Tropicana and hand delivers the letter to her dressing room whilst she’s onstage. As he leaves, one of the other girls is walking in, limping slightly.

“Are you okay?”

She smiles. “Oh well things have improved considerably now I’ve seen you,” she says, running her hand down his arm.

She’s very pretty, and she’s very nearly naked, with only pasties to cover her nipples and a tiny pair of sparkling silver panties on.

“Well that’s nice honey,” he responds, smiling back but moving his arm. “I’m just here with a letter for Mia - could you tell her that I brought it here myself?”

Her face falls slightly, but she nods. “Sure, of course. Have a nice evening!”

“You too honey.”

***

“He told me to tell you that he brought the letter himself, it’s under those flowers. I’m dying to know what he says! I bet it’s divine!”

“Was there anyone with him?”

“No, he was on his own.”

“Are you sure? No heavies or anything hanging around outside? No little guy following him about?”

“I’m sure. He was on his own when I came in, and I tried flirting with him but he really wasn’t interested. All he wanted was to get me to tell you he’d brought that letter.”

***

Elvis is sitting in the suite after his midnight show on his own as usual. He’s been playing the guitar for an hour or so, the same song over and over again.

“I need you baby, that’s no lie / without your love I’d surely die.”

It’s a Bo Diddley song, and usually it’s kind of cheerful for the blues, but he’s somehow making it melancholy. Even the bit about hearts going bumpity bump seems sad to him, thinking about the two of them sitting in the bed with her hand on his chest feeling his heartbeat.

He’d hoped the letter would have had some kind of effect, but he heard nothing last night and now he��s sitting on the sofa, guitar in hand, staring into space and wondering if he should send Mia a car. Maybe a car would be a big enough gesture to make her want to see him again. A loud knock at the door jolts him out of his thoughts and he wanders over to it slowly, sighing that someone is interrupting his misery, and pulls it open.

Mia is standing there in the fur coat he sent her, the gold necklace he bought her glinting around her neck and her hands full of the rings. He doesn’t have any time to contemplate what any of this means because all of a sudden the hands are on either side of his face and she is kissing him and pushing him back into the room, her body pressing up against his. He returns the kisses eagerly, pushing the door closed before pushing his hands under her coat and onto her hips.

As they pull apart, breathless, Mia says “I read your letter.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Elvis asks, unsure.

“No I really don’t want to talk about anything,” she replies, returning to kissing him. She hadn’t expected the letter. She’d spent a while afraid to read it, and then when she did she broke down and cried for him. She tried to ignore it, tried to tell herself that he was just saying these things to win her back, but he was all she could think about. So after the show this evening she’d decided she was going to take the risk. He’d been stupid and he’d upset her, but she can’t remember the last time a man had made her feel like this. She manoeuvres him towards the sofa and then lightly pushes him down onto it, continuing to stand in front of him as she removes her coat.

He looks up at her and realises she’s wearing the catsuit she’d bought on the shopping trip with Amanda. It’s white and tight and it fits every curve of her body. The way he can see the outline of her nipples he’s pretty sure she’s followed his advice and isn’t wearing any underwear. She smiles at the adoration in his eyes and then straddles him, wriggling against him as they begin kissing again. She can’t remember ever being kissed so thoroughly, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth. Their hands roam one another’s bodies and she can feel him hard already and pressing against her thigh. She slides her hands down his chest and reaches to undo his belt and then unzip his pants, one hand slowly easing his dick out and moving up and down on it gently but firmly. His eyes roll back in his head and he sighs deeply. “Oh baby.”

Mia grins at this response and immediately hops off his lap, pulling his pants down and off completely and then kneeling between his legs and slipping her mouth around his dick, keeping a firm hold with one hand and continuing to move up and down.

“You really didn’t want to talk,” Elvis can’t resist quipping, between moans.

Mia moves slightly to shush him, and then takes him completely in her mouth, holding his hips down firmly whilst she gets used to the feeling at the back of her throat. Her eyes water slightly and then she releases the pressure and lets him move. Elvis moans loudly now as he slowly rolls his lips up and back down again, feeling her mouth all over him. Fuck. He wasn’t expecting this. Not that he was complaining, but usually women didn’t just jump on his dick.

“Honey, honey,” he says breathlessly after a minute or so.

Mia looks up without moving her mouth.

“Come here.”

“What?” She asks, once she’s back on his lap again.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he says, reaching to pull the zipper down on the catsuit. “I can’t be having all the fun.”

She lets him unzip her to her bellybutton and then stops his hand. “I’m enjoying myself plenty with your cock.” She moves her hand back and starts stroking it again.

Elvis groans, she’s getting him very worked up and he’s not sure how much longer he can stand it. But he wants to touch her too. So he grabs both of her wrists and holds them at shoulder level. “I want to make you feel good honey, I wanna touch you. Please.” He gives her full-on doe eyes and she caves, smiling sweetly at him.

“Okay, well since you said please… but I want to make you come first.”

He can feel his dick throbbing and he is dying for her to touch it again. He just nods, so she goes back to kneeling between his legs and now her hand has sped up, her mouth just around the head as she pumps faster and faster and he moans and feels his orgasm building.

“Fuck. Fuck. Baby I’m gonna come.”

She feels him shake as his orgasm rushes over him, his hips bucking up to push his dick further into her mouth and down her throat. She lets it happen, gripping his hips for balance and then slowly moving her head up, tenderly licking him. She leans her head against the inside of his thigh and sighs. He reaches down to stroke her hair.

“Mmmm baby that was so good.”

She smiles.

“It’s your turn now, take off that jumpsuit and come here”

She’s slightly disconcerted about being ordered about like this so she stands up uncertainly and just looks at him. He sees the look on her face and stands up with her. “You want me to take it off for you?” He asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer, peeling it off her shoulders and pulling the sleeves off her arms, leaving her breasts exposed. He kisses her lips softly and then trails kisses across her jaw and her neck, taking one of her breasts in his hand and gently massaging it, his thumb rubbing her nipple. She moans softly. His hand trails down her stomach and then pulls the zip the rest of the way down, pushing under the remaining fabric and through the thick curly hair between her legs. She feels his fingers brush against her clit and then dip down further into the wetness that has been growing there since she got in the taxi excited after her show and unable to stop thinking about him. She moans again and buries her head in his shoulder.

He presses a few more kisses to her neck and then pulls away, taking her by the hand to the bed instead. He sits on it and spreads his legs wide so she can get between them.

He pats the bed between his legs. “Come and sit here honey.”

She looks at him and then giggles, holding her hand over her mouth.

“What?”

“You’re still wearing your shirt.”

“You’re still wearing half a catsuit. Why don’t we both just take all our clothes off?”

She nods and continues to giggle, settling herself between his legs once she’s naked.

“Lie back honey, let me take care of you.”

She leans back against his chest and he returns to kissing her neck, running his fingertips all over her breasts and stomach and then between her legs, letting the slick wetness coat them before he starts to rub her clit.

“Hey. Try to relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He can feel she’s tense, like a taught rubber band. She sighs a little. She’s finding it very hard to relax, feeling so exposed, him waiting for her orgasm as much as she is.

“Shhh baby,” he murmurs softly into her ear. “There’s no rush. I just want you to feel good, it doesn’t matter how long it takes. I can do this for a long time.” He chuckles lightly. “And if it doesn’t happen tonight we can try again tomorrow. I don’t want you to worry. I just want you to enjoy this.”

He keeps kissing her as he’s murmuring encouraging words, and she starts to feel the tension slowly ebbing away as pleasure builds inside her. She remembers the feeling of his arms around her when they lay in the bed in their pyjamas, how safe she felt, and she’s starting to enjoy that feeling again. Him wrapped around her, telling her he’ll do anything to give her pleasure.

As soon as he feels her relax against him he chances pushing a finger inside, and then another, and now he can hear her really moaning as he pumps them in and out, the palm of his hand still rubbing her clit.

“Oh, Elvis!”

He can feel that she’s getting close now, hearing the way her breath hitches, watching her body move. He speeds up his movements, and starts nipping at her neck, holding her body against him with his other hand.

“Fuck, fuck, oh god.”

She throws her head back as her orgasm washes over her, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her bare throat. He feels her shake and hears her moan again and again. He carefully removes his fingers and holds her in his arms as she buzzes from her orgasm, pressing tiny kisses to her shoulder.

She slowly starts to come round and turns herself around in his arms, suddenly feeling exposed and wanting to curl up against him. She sees him putting his fingers in his mouth and sucking, and cringes with embarrassment.

“What are you doing?” She squeaks, burying her now very red face in his chest.

“Finding out how you taste baby.”

“Oh my god,” she mumbles against him.

He puts his hand under her chin to coax her out from her hiding place. She looks up, still blushing.

“And the answer is, really good. You want a taste?” Before she realises what’s happening, he pulls her towards him and kisses her deeply. “See?”

She slaps him on the arm playfully and giggles. “Well I know I would taste good!” She looks at him slyly then. “You taste pretty good yourself.”

He laughs too. “Well that’s good to know.”

They lay together silently for a while and then he says, “what made you come back?”

“The letter. I… you just sounded so lonely and… I thought maybe I should stop being afraid of what might happen and just go for it.”

“Well you definitely went for it,” Elvis teases.

She slaps him on the arm again. “Listen, if you don’t want me to suck your cock ever again you can just carry on the way you are going.”

He laughs and then pulls her up so they are face to face. “I’m sorry, I was just teasing you. Please don’t stop sucking my dick, you’re very good at it.”

Now it’s her turn to giggle again. “Well I’m glad you can recognise talent anyway.”

He grins. “What’s your favourite position?”

Mia’s eyes go wide, not expecting a question so brazen but also kind of enjoying it.

“Me on top, facing away.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Alright, what’s yours?”

He grins again and grabs her, pushing her down onto the bed and fully rolling her onto her back. He reaches down and hooks her legs around his waist.

“This. Or doggy.”

She laughs again and shakes her head, closing her eyes. “You’re so filthy.”

“I’m not!” he protests, keeping her underneath him even though he feels her trying to wriggle away. “I like to look girls in the eye when I fuck them.”

She carries on trying to wriggle away, keeping her eyes closed and trying in vain to hide her head. Feeling some kind of combination of uncomfortable and turned on.

“I like to watch them when I’m giving them pleasure,” he continues, back to kissing her neck. “And I like it when I get to watch them come.” He nips her hard on the neck then, so she squeals and opens her eyes, and he takes he opportunity to move so he’s looking directly in them.

She looks up into those deep pools of blue, his hands on either side of her head, and feels herself wobble. She doesn’t want to be underneath him like this. It seems like he’s got all the control and she’s got nothing.

“Mmmm, let me up!” She puts both hands against his chest and pushes, and he rolls off her immediately.

“Sorry honey. I was only playing with you.”

She sighs. “I know. But I’ve only just decided this was a good idea, so it would be good if you could just… stop pinning me down against my will.”

He lays his head down on her chest, and puts an arm over her.

“I promise I won’t do anything against your will. I’m so grateful you’re here, honestly. I missed you so much, I was so lonely without you.”

He kisses all the skin he can reach, then picks up one of her hands and kisses each finger gently, and then presses several kisses to her palm. She feels tears prick at the corners of her eyes. He is so sweet.

“I missed you too,” she whispers, hoarsely. “I really did.”

***

Tags: @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed.

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codalysssssworld · 2 months

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HELPP!!!

Where can I request For an Elvis One shot!!

I have a little idea and need someone that just can bring the vision to life 😭😭😭

#elvis the king #70s elvis #elvis fans #elvisaaronpresley #elvis imagine #elvis the pelvis #elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis one shot #50s elvis #elvis presely smut #60s elvis #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x y/n

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codalysssssworld · 2 months

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Nights of Endless Love Part 3

The third part of a fic set in Vegas in 1971 at the start of Elvis' first residency that year. Many thanks to @vintagepresley for the wonderful idea in the first place, and continued inspiration and support. This part includes onstage!Elvis so please be kind about my attempt to convey his magic through the mere medium of words.

Part 1. Part 2.

18 and over only. This part is quite tame though no smut.

Pairing: Elvis + Vegas showgirl

Wordcount: 3K ish

TW: Swearing, angst, infidelity implied… can’t think of much else.

Despite the pills Elvis wakes up after only a few hours, and no amount of lying there with his eyes closed makes him go back to sleep. His thoughts are back on Mia, thinking their conversation through in his head again and again and trying to pick up clues about her. He wants to see her for dinner after the show, to have more opportunity to talk to her. She kept saying she wasn’t interested in him, but he’d seen her face when he got down on his knees and begged her to come to the show. He can’t remember a time he’s ever done that before. He frowns, and then wonders if maybe he did it when he was younger, not so famous. If he did, it definitely wouldn’t have been over something so minor as coming to his show. Usually he didn’t have to beg for that, usually people were falling over themselves trying to get tickets to see him. It had given him quite a rush though, losing his head over this girl and desperately trying to get her attention. That was definitely new. He kinda likes it.

He sits up and looks at the time. It’s barely midday. Well, plenty of time to get prepared for this evening. It’s safe to say that he spends the rest of the day flapping. Panicking about when the guys will get her, how they’ll persuade her to stay for dinner, how quickly he can get changed so he can persuade her to stay for dinner when the guys inevitably fail, which outfit he should wear, how much jewellery, would she like it if he wore make up? By the time it’s half an hour before showtime, the guys are exhausted. They weren’t used to their boss being up so early, and although they would probably say they were used to unreasonable demands, these seemed extreme even by Elvis’ standards. It’s a blessed relief for everyone concerned when she arrives safely and Joe can tell Elvis that she is seated at the front.

Elvis actually does sigh with relief, and is then struck by his usual bout of stage fright, something he’s somehow managed to avoid until now by worrying about Mia instead. It’s a fraught twenty minutes or so, but eventually the music starts to play and he walks out on stage and suddenly everything is better. The crowd roar their approval and he feels at home. At home where nothing can hurt him. Maybe when he’s off stage Priscilla can hurt him, the media can hurt him, his eternal loneliness can hurt him, and most of all the death of his mother can still hurt him, but here it’s like he’s immortal. He’s filled with joy and light and the power of the hundreds of people in the audience cheering and whooping, and not even just that - somehow it feels like the power of everyone who has ever cheered and whooped for him is here and he is feeding off it like a vampire. He stands for a moment with his hands on his hips and surveys the audience like a king looking out over his kingdom. Life is good.

Charlie hands him the guitar and he tears into a version of That’s Alright at breakneck speed, half playing it and half miming, equally buoyed up by the noise of the musicians behind him and the fans in front of him. As he brings the song to a close dramatically with a lavish sweep of his arms, he takes the opportunity to look at the front row, beaming and nodding to himself. He sees her, sat on her own, long hair framing her lovely face. She looks beautiful, dressed in a long velvet ballgown that he’ll find out later is backless. She’s to the right of him, and he can just about make out her smile. He turns to face the band and gestures for the next song to start. He’ll get closer to her later, for now he really wants to impress her. You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me is an impressive song for him vocally, the stage lighting and the music is dramatic, and he can’t help but feel that she must be enjoying it, although he barely looks in her direction.

He jokes around with the audience before beginning Love Me Tender, and eyes the women who start standing up at the edge of the stage, waiting for him to kiss them. He deliberately starts on the opposite side of the stage and moves towards her. He decided early on in this residency not to get off the stage and walk through the crowd anymore, but there are still plenty of women politely pushing their way to the edge of the stage and looking up at him with doe eyes. And he does enjoy it. Sometimes his lips get sore, but it’s a small price to pay. And more importantly, they enjoy it too. He finally reaches her side of the stage,

“Love me…. tender…. love me…. sweet, uh. Never… let me go.”

and notices she’s still sat at the table. He supposes it would be too much to ask for her to join in and stand ready to be kissed too. There are two women stood right in front of her table, and when he reaches them he makes eye contact with her and then leans down to kiss one. When he looks back up again she’s smirking, so he repeats the same move with the next woman. Then he pulls the scarf from around his neck, sidesteps the women he just kissed and leans towards her, waving it in front of him.

“Scarf, honey?”

Her reaction is surprisingly fast, she stands up and nips around the side of the table, grabbing the other end. He doesn’t let go straight away, playfully pretending to pull it back and pulling a face as he does it. She giggles and pulls back, and he lets it go. He watches her sit down again and drape it around her neck as he presses kisses to the lips of the final two women on that side of the stage, and then wraps the song up.

“Anyone I didn’t get to… I’ll be back later on, don’t worry.”

The whole thing puts him in an even better mood for the rest of the show, and he’s spinning and kicking and joking with the audience and the band, and he looks over at Mia once or twice but doesn’t make too much of a habit of it. He’s laughing too, on more than one song he gets a fit of the giggles and has to poke himself in the palm with a plectrum to stop. He’s getting towards the end of the set now, reeling through the old fifties numbers one after the other.

Mia has been captivated by him since he came onstage, but she’s really enjoying You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling. He’s wearing this white studded jumpsuit with a big collar, a blue macramé belt and white shoes, and he’s been doing the most outrageous gymnastics in it, making her think that it will tear at any minute. He’s currently almost on the floor, with one leg bent and the other stretched out long, and then he’s very slowly moving to change legs as he sings.

“Baby baby, I’d get down on my knees for you”

She snorts and then quickly puts her hand up to her face to try and muffle the laughter. You definitely would, because you already did she thinks.

Elvis notices her reaction, even though he isn’t that close to her, and it makes him smile as he gets up again and spins around quickly in time with the music as it kicks back in. He’s sure she must be enjoying herself.

As soon as he’s offstage he goes immediately to his downstairs dressing room and starts showering. He’s drenched in sweat, so there’s no way he could’ve just gone straight to dinner, but he wants to get clean and dressed again as soon as possible. He’s almost done when he hears shouting and then a furious knocking at the door.

“Boss! Boss! She says she can’t stay for dinner!”

Can’t, or won’t? Elvis’ stomach drops. He really thought she’d stay. He gets out of the shower, wraps a towel around his waist and opens the door.

“Where is she?” He demands.

Charlie, who has been tasked with keeping Mia in the building since Joe got fed up and went for a nap, dashes off and then returns a few minutes later with Mia in tow. She’s looking extremely glamorous, and with her killer heels on she towers over Charlie by about a foot, making him trying to take her anywhere seem somewhat ridiculous.

Elvis leans against the doorframe and runs his fingers through his wet hair. Surely this has got to help. Women are usually powerless to resist this sort of thing.

“Come on baby, stay for dinner. I only want to talk to you.”

Mia cocks an eyebrow and looks him up and down.

“Is this how you dress when you just want to talk to a girl? I hate to think what you do when you want to get her into bed.”

He’s about to argue, and then he changes tack.

“Okay, you got me,” he holds his hands up like he did the night before, in mock surrender. “I see this kind of behaviour doesn’t work with a sophisticated woman. I’ll get dressed.”

She smiles slightly. “I hope you’re not calling me that because you think I’m old.”

His eyes go wide. “Of course not honey. I’m saying it because you’ve got class. Now will you stay for dinner if I promise to put my clothes on and keep my hands to myself?”

Her smile turns into a full-on beam. “Alright Mr Presley, since you asked so nicely.”

“Now are you calling me that because you think I’m old?”

She laughs. “Of course not honey. I’m saying it because you’ve got class.”

Elvis gets dressed and walks to the restaurant in the hotel, since Charlie has already gone ahead with Mia. He’s booked out a lot of the tables surrounding theirs and the guys are occupying them, a reasonable distance away so they’re not eavesdropping, but close enough in case he needs them. And also of course the general public aren’t sitting too close to him either. He sits down opposite Mia and smiles.

“Well honey, you look absolutely gorgeous this evening.”

She smiles. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“It was fantastic. You were really good.” She props her head up on her elbow and frowns at him slightly. “But I do wonder, do you ever go anywhere by yourself?”

Elvis blinks in confusion. He’d just been feeling warm and fuzzy after her compliment and suddenly she hits him with this weird question.

“What do you mean? I’m here now.”

“Yeah but, you’re surrounded.” She waves her hand around at the other tables. “Do you need them with you everywhere you go? Do you take them to the men’s room too?” Her mouth is curled into a smile, but Elvis isn’t finding this line of questioning all that funny.

“I need them. For protection. You think I can just go out like some normal person?”

She stops smiling, she’s touched a nerve. “Well I just think sometimes you could try going somewhere on your own for a change.” She looks him up and down. “I mean, you look tough, I think you could take someone in a fight.”

He rolls his eyes. “And what about if someone tries to take a shot at me?”

“You’re telling me you’re not carrying right now?” She fires back.

“I need the guys with me,” he repeats, through gritted teeth now. “You don’t understand.”

“I really don’t. Look, I was only teasing you. Let’s go back to talking about your show shall we?”

He huffs and is about to say something else barbed when the waitress comes over and asks for their order. Once that’s done, some of the sting has been taken out of their earlier conversation. Elvis decides she was right, they should go back to talking about his show.

“So. Which song did you like best?”

“You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling.”

“I bet you did, I saw you enjoying the line about me on my knees.”

She giggles. “It’s a good memory.”

“Is it now? Have you been thinking about it a lot?”

She tries to keep a straight face but can’t help herself, sniggering at first and raising an eyebrow, and then collapsing into laughter when he starts giggling too. The tension from earlier has dissolved into gales of laughter.

“More seriously,” she says, as she manages to get her composure back. “I wish you’d played more blues. I really enjoy the blues-y songs.”

“I love the blues. The blues and gospel are what really get me going. But Vegas isn’t really the place for sitting down with a guitar and getting into your feelings. They need me to put on a show. Plus I can’t stay sat down for that long.”

She smiles. Of course she knows he can’t just sit still when he’s playing. His movements are legendary. They talk for a while as they eat about their favourite artists and she tells him which of his songs she likes the best. All too soon he looks at his watch and sighs.

“I have to go and get ready for my next show.”

She smiles. “Well I hope it goes well. I better get back for mine too.” She pauses, and then says impulsively, “I know what you’re going to ask, and…I’ll let you see me again, but all you can do is hold my hand. Nothing more.”

He almost jumps in surprise, then tries to look nonchalant, as if he were expecting this all along. “Well alright. Why don’t you come to my suite tomorrow and we can carry on our conversation? Listen to some records.”

He reaches across the table and gently takes her hand in his. It’s huge and almost wraps it up entirely.

“I’d like that.”

Elvis thinks a lot about their conversation once he’s back in his suite, alone again. He’d let the guys leave at a reasonable time, not feeling quite so wired as he was last night. He’s not always been one for self-reflection, preferring to fill his days and nights with conversation and company to block those sorts of thoughts out, but he wonders what he is doing with Mia as he sits on the bed flicking from channel to channel on the TV. He knows she isn’t unaffected by him, he saw the way she’d looked at him sometimes, he’d seen her bite her lip when they were in the elevator together in a way that could only be sexual. But she won’t act on it. She’ll see him, but she won’t let him do more than hold her hand.

Elvis hugs himself subconsciously. He loves physical contact. He’s always loved to touch people and be touched. He kisses, he cuddles, he puts his head on willing shoulders. To only be allowed to hold her hand seems like a special form of torture reserved for him, and for a reason he can’t begin to understand. He switches the TV off and goes over to his record player. He flicks through the records there and selects a Muddy Waters LP. He puts it on and sits back on the bed. He thinks back to their first conversation, and remembers her saying something about knowing what he was like, knowing stars like him before. So she’s been burned? By who? And could it really be so bad that she would be this cold? He sighs loudly and flops back onto the bed. Why doesn’t she want to be held by him? Why doesn’t she want his kisses? Other girls did. Plenty of other girls did. He lets out another frustrated sigh, sounding even to himself a bit like a petulant teenager. He’s not sure how much longer he can manage this, being alone at night. He’s not used to it. He hates waking up in the night and being the only person in the bed. He wants comfort. Needs it.

His mind wanders to Kathy, who he’d been involved with for a while last year. She kept telling him she was uncomfortable that he was still married, and he kept telling her that it was over and there was nothing to be uncomfortable about. He and Priscilla were husband and wife in name only. But it hadn’t made any difference, and he’d got a bit fed up with her constantly bringing it up and crying over it, so things had sort of trailed off. He misses her a bit, he supposes. Though of course he sees her now every night again, introducing her with the rest of the band members. Kathy is easy to understand and mostly easy to please. And they still have that little spark. Maybe Kathy will keep him company, if Mia keeps refusing.

Taglist:

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@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley

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codalysssssworld · 2 months

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And thats how it happened 🥲

#elvis the king #elvisaaronpresley #elvis presley #elvis the pelvis #elvis fans #70s elvis #elvis imagine #and so does elvis #elvis x reader #60s elvis #50s elvis #elvis photos #elvis history

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codalysssssworld · 2 months

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He laughs 🥹🤍… he sounds like he’s having a good time !!!

Elvis and Linda at Sam Thompsons House I November 1973. I love his laugh. He genuinely enjoyed himself. CREDIT ORIGINAL OWNER

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codalysssssworld · 2 months

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Found these in a facebook group and figured I'd share.🩷

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codalysssssworld · 2 months

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God!!! This pictures is my Top 1 pic of him… 😫😫 he just looks soooo good in it 😭😭😭

February 1969 - Elvis Presley at his home gates, 1174 Hillcrest Drive in Beverly Hills.

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codalysssssworld · 2 months

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Is it normal to be this strongly attracted to a man because of his hair? #AskingForAFriend

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codalysssssworld · 2 months

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I love how he even through the good grades manage to have D still… just makes me honored that he didn’t need to be Brain smart to have success !! 🥹🙃

#70s elvis #elvisaaronpresley #elvis presley #elvis the pelvis #elvis imagine #elvis the king #elvis fans #and so does elvis #vernon presley #Presley

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codalysssssworld · 2 months

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Aaahh🥹🥹😫😫

Waiting for Love - Part Four

Relax and Enjoy the Ride

Content: Late July 1970, marriage problems, infidelity, smut, some angst, fluff, 18+

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list!

Catch up here: Waiting for Love series

Elvis heard a soft rapping at the door to his hotel suite and his heart sped up at the irrational thought that maybe Vivien had decided to just quit her job and stay with him. He swung open the door, but to his shock it was Priscilla, holding a small bag in one hand and Lisa Marie’s arm with the other. Lisa was trying to squirm away. “Daddy!” she yelled out when she looked up at him.

“Yisa!” he responded with delight. “C’mere and give Daddy a big ol hug!” He scooped her up and covered her little face with kisses, blowing raspberries on her chubby cheeks.

“Daddy have cake?” Lisa asked with a big grin.

“Of course Daddy has some cake for ya. Ya want chocolate?” Elvis beamed as he led her over to the dining area.

“Elvis, she really doesn’t need that right now,” Priscilla started to say, but Elvis waved her off.

“Let me give my princess some cake.”

“Yeah, mommy, princess need cake,” Lisa smiled at her hero and sweet-provider. Priscilla rolled her eyes.

“Are you alone here?” she asked Elvis casually, glancing around for any evidence to the contrary.

“Of course. I mean, the guys are here, but they’re out pickin’ up dinner. Or lunch. Or whatever meal we’re supposed ta be eatin’ right now,” Elvis said, glancing at the clock. 6pm. “Why? Were you expectin’ someone else?” he asked, starting to grow suspicious and irritated. “Is that why ya showed up unannounced two weeks early?”

Priscilla looked away guiltily. “No,” she murmured. “I just thought it would be nice for Lisa to see you for a few days. And for me, too,” she quickly added. “Then we’ll go back to LA.”

“But you’re comin’ for opening night, right?” Elvis asked, his face looking eager like a puppy dog.

“Yeah, yes, of course,” Priscilla answered, wondering how long they were going to keep up this charade of a happy couple for opening night. Elvis was wondering the same thing. Wondering why he felt he needed her there. Wondering if he’d care to see her at all if Lisa wasn’t with her. Wondering why he felt more irritation than happiness when his own damn wife showed up at his door. He felt trapped in a web of promises, expectations, and pressures that he could not begin to articulate. And now the added complication of Vivien. Of love.

*************************************************

“So what happened next?” Roxanne grilled as she and Vivien relaxed on her sofa Friday night. They’d both had busy weeks at work, and it was the first chance they’d had to catch up since Vivien’s whirlwind trip to Las Vegas the weekend before. She sipped her red wine and stared intently as Vivien fidgeted with her bottle of Pepsi.

“Well, he rehearsed for a while, and it was amazing to see. Like my own private concert,” Vivien said, smiling at the memory of that rich soulful voice filling the rehearsal space. “And then later,” she continued, staring down at her red fingernails tapping nervously on the bottle, “we, uh, went up to his room.”

“Oooh, now this is what I wanna hear!” Roxanne leaned in close so she wouldn’t miss a thing. “Was it like a party or just the two of you? Did you see him naked? Did you do the deed?”

“Hold on, hold on, I’ll get to all that. First we just talked for a while. He was asking me what I thought of his rehearsal and then we talked about his movies. Rox, he’s sooo sweet and funny.”

“Yeah, yeah, sweet, funny, charming, now get to the good stuff,” Roxanne teased. “Did you tell him how much we love his tight pants in the movies?”

Vivien blushed as she reached for the bowl of popcorn sitting on the couch between them. “I might have mentioned something about that.”

“You did?” Roxanne squealed. “What did he say?”

“Um, he turned really red actually. It was very cute. Of course, I was blushing too. And that led to me, uh, doing some other things,” Vivien said evasively.

“Other things? C’mon, Vivien, tell me what happened!” Roxanne threw a piece of popcorn at her.

“I’m sorry, I just feel embarrassed saying it all out loud,” Vivien groaned, burying her head in her arms, using the bottle of Pepsi to cool down her burning hot face.

“Oh, Viv, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I always tell you everything, and I’ve been waiting for the day when you’d have something juicy to share. Don’t hold out on me now!”

“Okay, okay,” Vivien breathed out nervously. “This is what happened. He let me take his pants off, and then I…” Vivien made a motion like she was licking a lollipop.

“Oh Viv I’m so proud of you!” Roxanne crowed. “Did you like it? Did he like it? How big was it?” The interrogation continued.

“Oh, I really loved it. The way he moaned when I licked him…I’ll remember that sound for the rest of my life,” Vivien giggled. “I think he liked it, but I don’t know if I was very good at it. I didn’t do it too long before he wanted to do some other things.”

“What things?” Roxanne demanded. “Did you go all the way?”

“No, I wasn’t sure if I was ready, and he said he wanted to take things slowly anyway.”

“Aww, that is a very sweet line,” Roxanne said. “So what did you do instead?”

“Well, he took my dress off so I was just in my underwear, and then he got on top of me and just kind of, you know,” Vivien made a rolling motion with her hips and laughed. “It felt really good, though, especially since his tongue was just all over me. And he must have loved it too because he…finished on me,” Vivien’s voice dropped to a whisper at the end.

“Wait, what? Elvis finished just from humping you through your underwear?” Roxanne sounded shocked.

“Yeah, then he used his fingers to make sure I finished too. He said he had to take care of me.” Vivien beamed at the thought of how considerate he was. She knew from Roxanne that not many guys were like that. “After that he got some towels to clean us off. It’s funny because he seemed almost shy to be naked in front of me after it was over. He was sort of trying to hide behind the towel when he saw me looking at him still.”

“Well yeah, Viv, I don’t think men like to be stared at when their thing is soft,” Roxanne laughed. “When it’s just hanging there like a cute little mushroom.”

Vivien’s brow furrowed at the description. “It didn’t really look like a mushroom. More like a, um, like a caterpillar in a cocoon. A nice thick cocoon,” she added dreamily.

“Are you telling me Elvis is not circumcised?” Roxanne asked with a quizzical expression, as if she couldn’t believe her ears.

“Um, I don’t know, I guess not,” Vivien shrugged. Since she hadn’t known what to expect, the thought really hadn’t crossed her mind.

Roxanne wrinkled her nose in mild disgust. “That’s weird, I wonder why not.” Vivien rolled her eyes. Roxanne’s judgments over superficial things were a bit much at times.

“Who cares? I thought it was perfect.” Vivien tried to keep her annoyance under the surface, but it was clearly rising.

‘

“I’m sorry, Viv, I wasn’t meaning to insult him. I know how protective you get when you love someone.” Roxanne reached over and squeezed her hand. Vivien turned to look at her, and her eyes suddenly welled up with tears. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Vivien shook her head as the tears started rolling down her cheeks.

“I do love him, Rox. I’m scared of how much I feel for him already.” Vivien let Roxanne pull her into a hug as she continued. “I haven’t even told you the worst part yet. I thought he was feeling the same way about me, and then when I left the hotel, I’m almost positive I saw Priscilla arriving.” She sniffled into Roxanne’s shoulder. “It just hit me so hard, y’know? Like I’m falling in love while he has this whole other life with this person.”

Roxanne rubbed her back soothingly. “It’s okay, Viv. You don’t know what she was doing there; it could have been just to bring their daughter by. He told you not to worry about it, right? I’m sure he needs to sort some things out, but I think the only thing you can do at this point is to follow your heart.”

“I’m trying, but it’s so hard. He hasn’t even called me this week.” Vivien let the tears continue to fall while Roxanne rocked her like a baby.

Two hours later, Vivien was walking up the stairs to her apartment, feeling a little better after watching some television with Roxanne. As she reached the landing, Mrs. Quimp popped her head out from next door. “Y’know dearie,” she started in that pleasant yet judgmental way, “If you’re going to have people calling all hours of the night, you might want to invest in one of those machines that answers your phone for you. I’ve been hearin’ it ring for near on an hour now.”

Vivien glanced down at her watch and saw it was 9pm. Hardly “all hours of the night,” she thought as she rolled her eyes. “I’ll be sure to look into that,” she said sweetly as she slipped into her apartment before Mrs. Quimp could offer more helpful advice. She tossed her purse on the counter and grabbed the pale blue phone receiver. “Hello?”

“Baby, w-w-where the hell ya been?” Elvis spluttered out. “I-I-I was ‘bout ta send out a search party for ya.”

“Elvis? I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were calling,” Vivien responded, totally caught off guard by his slight hostility.

Elvis let out a little sigh. “It’s okay honey, I-I was just’ gettin’ worried about ya.” He cleared his throat a little bit. “So, w-w-where were ya? On a hot date?” He said it casually, but his sweet stutter belied his nerves, and Vivien was surprised, and honestly a little flattered, to detect a hint of jealousy in his tone.

“No, of course not, silly,” she laughed. “I was with Roxanne. The only man I want a hot date with is halfway across the country.” Vivien could picture the crooked simile she knew was spreading across his handsome face.

“Is that right? Who ya seein’ in New York, baby?” Elvis let out a loud laugh at his own joke.

“Very funny,” Vivien giggled. “You know it’s you. And I want to see more of you.”

“I think ya seen ‘bout all there is ta see, honey,” Elvis teased.

Vivien blushed at that. “Well, I want to see it all again then. It looked so good the first time.”

“Not disappointed then?” Elvis’ tone was still light and joking, but Vivien thought she detected the tiniest bit of insecurity in his voice. The weird look of disgust on Roxanne’s face flashed through her mind, and she wondered if Elvis had ever seen that look on a woman’s face in his most vulnerable moments. The idea that someone so amazing could also be nervous and insecure somehow both soothed her and broke her heart. She felt determined to make him see the beauty that she saw.

“Disappointed? Oh, no, you looked absolutely perfect. I could stare at you all day,” Vivien murmured, her face growing hot at the thought of it.

“You’re a sweet little weirdo, y’know that?” Elvis laughed, glad she couldn’t see the way she made him blush with her compliments.

“Well, it takes one to know one, doesn’t it?” Vivien teased.

“It sure do, baby. Now when ya gonna come back and see me so we can stare at each other?”

“Oh, um, Joe told me I couldn’t be there once the camera crews arrived,” Vivien explained.

The tension immediately returned to Elvis’ voice. “Baby, don’ ya worry ‘bout him. We already had a conversation, and if he wants ta keep his job, he’ll mind his own goddamn business.” He sighed and continued, “I ain’t mad at ya honey, jus’ don’ worry ‘bout any of that, okay? Remember to jus’ stay in the moment with me. I need ya with me. Everything feels better with you, Vivien. Everything,” he repeated.

Vivien’s heart melted a little bit. “Okay, of course I’ll come. I just didn’t want to be in the way.”

“Honey, ya ain’t in the way if I want ya here, okay? I’ll make the arrangements for next weekend. I can’t wait ta see ya again.”

*************************************************

Elvis kicked off his boots, peeled off his socks, draped his heavy belt over the chair, and flopped onto the giant bed in his suite. He set his glasses on the nightstand and patted the spot next to him. “C’mere honey, take off your sandals and lay by me. I gotta unwind before dinner.” Vivien obeyed and settled in next to him, leaning her head on the sleeve of his cherry blossom shirt. “You got some cute yittle sooties, honey,” Elvis announced as he nudged one of VIvien’s feet with his own.

“What, my feet?” she asked, trying to figure out what sooties were. She was slowly but surely adding all of Elvis’ special little words to her vocabulary.

“Yeah, I like how your toenails and fingernails match,” he said as he stared at them with a little grin. “You should try pink next time. That would look real nice on ya, baby.”

“Maybe I will,” Vivien smiled. “Your feet are pretty cute, too.”

Elvis laughed. “Oh, ya like how two of my toes are partly connected?”

Vivien kneeled up on the bed to get a better look.

“Aww, look at those cute little toesies!” she cooed, grabbing one of his feet and nibbling at his toes like he was a little boy. Elvis laughed and squirmed, trying to pull his foot away. “Oh, is someone ticklish?” Vivien teased, running her fingertips over the bottom of his foot.

“B-b-baby, st-stop it,” Elvis pleaded, his laughter now completely uncontrolled.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Vivien asked playfully as she moved the tickling up under his pant leg, around his ankle.

“L-lemme show ya,” Elvis gasped out, and he leaned up and pounced on her, rolling them both over so he was laying on top of her. He immediately lunged in for a deep, passionate kiss. Vivien relished the way his marshmallow-soft lips smashed into hers, his tongue prodding its way into her mouth. He pulled back slightly and stared into her eyes. “Ya feel Little Elvis?” Vivien nodded, feeling his arousal growing harder, pressing into her. “You, uh, gonna kiss me there again, honey?” Elvis asked, his face turning a deep crimson.

Vivien nodded again, reaching up to stroke his flushed cheek. “Elvis, I think I’d do anything to make you happy,” she whispered. The way he smiled at that made her feel like he was looking into her very soul.

“You’re such a giving person, Vivien. So am I. There’s somethin’ I’ve really been wantin’ to do for ya.” Elvis shifted gently off of her and reached his hand slowly under her dress, pulling her panties down and removing them completely.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Vivien asked anxiously as Elvis lifted the hem of her dress and started inching down between her legs.

Elvis looked up with that adorable, lopsided, heart-melting grin. “You’re so sweet ta me Vivien, that I jus’ know ya gotta taste sweet too.” Vivien remembered what she had forgotten to ask Roxanne about, but it was too late now. She could feel her body trembling as Elvis pushed her legs further apart. “Shh, ‘s okay honey,” he rubbed her thigh soothingly with his thumb. “You jus’ relax and enjoy the ride.” She grabbed his hair as the waves of pleasure began to overtake her, Elvis’ tongue dancing across every inch of her body.

Tag List: @whositmcwhatsit @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @from-memphis-with-love @pebbles403 @deniseinmn @everythingelvispresley @little-laamb @annapresley8 @leapresley @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @atleastpleasetelephone @gatheraheart @richardslady121 @helen06dreamer

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Gambling On Your Love - Chapter 7

Summary: Things that cannot be. Those are the things we want most. Especially with Elvis Presley.

Warnings: Pregnancy, abortion, adult language, sexually suggestive scenes.

Word count: 8,019

Francesca knew not where to be. She couldn’t find comfort anywhere. Her apartment didn’t feel like her own any longer. She didn’t have any friends in the city. Elvis wouldn’t stop calling her, so now her home had gone from ringing silence to ceaseless ringing in a frustrated snap. She just couldn’t take it anymore.

She answered his first call, without saying a word, and listened to him breathlessly plead with her to say something to him, to say anything to him. He didn’t understand. He was sorry. It was a horrible, sickly feeling she wanted to separate from so badly it made her insides twist. She held tightly onto a throw pillow and dreaded each moment that passed, knowing any moment he could come knocking at her door again.

It's been a week since she’d suddenly called things off with them. Whatever “them” had been. She sighed, burying her face in her bunched knees. How unsightly. She hadn’t left the house in days.

Her suspicions had just grown and grown and grown. She thought how easily he could be playing her. How blindsided she could be by her affections. Why wouldn’t he use her as a stepping stone? Wouldn’t putting her out see him in more pictures? His career had everything to gain by snuffing hers out. They were both triple threats in the same genre. Maybe the great Elvis Presley couldn’t bear to share the spotlight—even for a moment—even for a woman he…

Did he love her?

Gray morning sunlight filtered in, her cat chasing the fat beams on the floor. The churning within her stomach became too much. Her palms dewed with sweat, tingling when she tightened her robe. She swallowed thickly, the motion making her swoon. Slowly, she stood up from the couch. The room was spinning and her face felt hot while her body ran cold. Quickly, she fretted to the bathroom, going to her knees and desperately bracing her quivering frame against her commode.

No, no, no. She hated getting sick. Vomiting was damn near terrifying. Her eyes watered and she hurled into the porcelain. Again and again until she was heaving dry, just gasping for a breath. She crawled towards the shower, undressing as she let steam waft. She adjusted the water, lukewarm to ease her burning, shuddering, distressed body. Her stomach was empty and yet her head still spun. She’d never felt such distinct dizziness before. It rocked her for a long moment, where all she could do was brace against the porcelain and watch through slitted eyes as water circled the drain. It just felt good to have the water on her skin, pattering her like a lover's fingers.

Francesca didn’t know why, but tears welled in her eyes, mixing with the water as she blinked them away. It felt cathartic to weep, to release herself to an almost soothing sense of sadness that felt better than the nausea.

I miss him…

After what felt like an hour, Francesca was finally stable enough to stand up and cut the faucet off. That had been awful. Like the worst bout of acid reflux she’d ever experienced. She eased back onto the couch, still wrapped in a damp towel as she breathed. Normalcy was over her in a thin, wavering grain, not entirely rooted. If she moved too quickly, she’d spiral back into bleak dizziness. But if she remained still and slowed her breathing… Everything was alright.

Just when she thought she’d capture a comforting morning recovery nap with her kitty curled up in her lap— there was a heavy knock at her door. It wasn’t Elvis’s frantic rapping, her intuition confirmed when her courteous agent called her name from the other side.

“Francesca? I couldn’t reach you on the phone. I hope you don’t mind. My visit wasn’t totally unannounced, but I can see you haven’t checked your mail either.”

Frannie glanced over to a pile of letters sitting unread in a basket by the entrance. More still were caught in the letter slot, haphazardly spilling in. Cautiously, she rose up to unlock the door, sliding on her robe to undo the chain and let him in. His hair had grown a bit since she’d last seen him and he brought her flowers, gesturing a bouquet of tiger lilies at her.

“Did you sleep a wink last night? You look awfully pale. Running a fever?”

“I’m fine, just a bit of a stomach bug is all.”

He raised a brow at that but didn’t say anything as he stepped inside. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to swing by for a visit to check on her, but she wasn’t oblivious to the concern wrought on his face.

Francesca put her bouquet in a crystal vase, cutting the stems and submerging them in cool fresh water. She couldn’t help but feel like them. Sustained with the bare minimum, looking pretty until she wilted.

“Nick,” she began, turning towards him, slowly so that her head didn’t start swimming again. She still felt so floaty. Her throat burned. She was hungry but had no appetite. Ugh… “Thank you for the flowers and for stopping by.”

“I’m not here to fuss at you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Though, I will say,” he stopped, glancing at her pink rotary phone. Following the cord with his eyes, he slipped it back in with a finger wag. “Don’t do that to me. It’s one thing if I can’t get in touch with you, you’re a tough, independent girlie, I know you’re fine. But it’s something else to send Elvis Presley on a wild goose chase with me right in the middle of it. You know how many times that man called me looking for you? He thinks I’m the one who’s put ideas in your head about quitting.”

She scoffed. “He’s certainly committed to his bit. Tell him to… tell him to kick rocks!” On one hand, Elvis Presley was one of the most considerate, generous, thoughtful men she’d ever met. He gave her everything and more. But on the other, Francesca knew no man who was as steadfast at achieving his goals. He and his shifty little manager had gotten under her skin. It was exasperating, exhausting to constantly deal with. The reshoots had been another drop in the bucket. But that interview, that’d been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

It would have been so easy to attribute it to tabloid fakery that an opportunistic reporter just fubbed up to make a paycheck. But there had been intimate details in the paper. Things only Elvis should know.

“And the rumors about your and Ms. Ferrara’s on-screen relationship being more than just fictional?”

“Let’s just say, we like to do a little method acting. No runaway horse rides.”

“Oh, maybe runaway motorcycle rides then? Ladies, take note, this is how you can find an excuse to put your arms around that man you’ve been eyeing. Ask him for a ride on his motorcycle.”

Elvis laughs, looking coyly to the side before back at our mic. “Actually, Frannie has her own.”

“No kidding! Francesca Ferrara on a cycle?”

“She’s better at it than me. We made it all the way to Mt. Charleston Village together on iced over roads.”

“That’s dangerous, no? Driving in the mountains with all that ice?”

Elvis grins. “Well, we might have gotten snowed in.”

Francesca was equal parts furious and betrayed, that he would feel so careless to share her heart with him. Just when she thought she’d found the one that she might be able to spend the rest of her life with. It was like he understood her, would fly with her instead of trying to cage her down like many a man had seemed intent to do.

She yearned for the chance to talk to him again just as much as she braced for it. As soon as Dominick plugged her phone back in, it began to ring. He looked at her before they both glanced at the phone, anxiously calling out to her. The answering machine picked up and she could see the tape was almost full of unanswered messages Elvis had inadvertently left behind.

“Frannie. If you’d just talk to me. If you’d just tell me anything, I’d give it up. But I can’t stop thinking about you. You know I’m crazy about you. It feels like you took a piece of me with you when you left. Just talk to me. Call me. We don’t have to talk about the movie. Just… please, Chess.”

Oh, the longing. The pleading in his voice. It got to her. Her knuckles were pressed to her mouth, pursing the words back, holding the desire to pick up. Maybe she did owe it to them both to explain why she was so worked up. It wasn’t just that awful article… it was everything on set. The movie might not be cursed, but maybe she was. It felt like a specter had been looming over her entire presence on set, sabotaging everything. Things went missing from her purse. Objects in perfect condition were found broken. Her hospital visit, her dress, the film itself being cut—it all seemed too convenient that so many awful things happened to her and only her.

Elvis on the other hand, had only improved. Word was it that he had a three-picture-deal lined up whether Gambling on Your Love took off or not. At this point, Francesca worried if the film would ever be released. Her part in it had been so crucial. The reshoots had been sloppy, comparatively. She couldn’t get out of her own head. Cassandra might have been pacified, but Francesca wasn’t. That just wasn’t her best work. And there was still the final duet that needed refilming. It’d taken them just a few clean takes the first go around, Cassandra wanted the shot to be continuous and three solid minutes of song and dance under hot casino lights without breaking a sweat in high heels was easier said than done.

Francesca had been flawless. The first time. Elvis was with her step for step. He’d been practicing, not neglecting his vocals and his choreography recitals, even after their forays together.

How she missed him.

“You know I always want what’s best for you.” He patted his coat pocket, checking to make sure his cigarettes were there. He knew she didn’t allow smoking in her apartment. “I’ve got a few scripts we can go over. One of these is out there. It’s a macabre, black comedy thriller about a female doctor moonlighting for the mob. Another is a Bond-Type, special agent. You’ll be in a group with two other actresses and the director let me know personally that you were his first pick for the leading lady.” His voice was slightly upturned, like he had a few more.

It was nice to get her mind off of things and focus on her future. This was just a stumble.

“Anything else?” She grinned insinuatingly.

Dominick crossed his arms, his head leaning side to side like he mulled over whether to tell her or not. Chewing over it, he finally spat, “And lastly, I’ve got a screenplay and a hungry director asking for you again. It’s about a single mom whose husband dies in a factory fire and she makes ends meet as a dancer.”

At first, Frannie winced. “What type of dancer?”

“Eh…” Dominick was like a father figure. He didn’t like discussing relationship matters (other than his warnings about their effect on her public image), and he most certainly didn’t like discussing the racy and the tawdry. He nervously prattled his fingers on his knees. “A gentleman’s club. There wouldn’t be any topless scenes. Only implications. The offer is pretty good Frannie, the director in charge is Billy Wilder.”

Director of The Apartment. It was a pretty successful romantic comedy-drama. She wasn’t entirely certain that was on brand for her though. He could sense her hesitation.

“You'd be surprised how much classier the script is on paper. The female lead meets a rich client that wants to take care of her and her son. Only a few scenes are supposed to take place in the club.”

“How much?”

“More than Gambling.”

She inhaled. “Alright. Just, say yes to it all. Not all at once. I can’t be everywhere at once. And I need some time off in between... I’ve been writing some new songs.”

“You’ll definitely have to relocate for the first one though.”

“Oh?”

“The director doesn’t want to travel to Mexico for some shots, so Phoenix will have to do.”

Phoenix, Arizona? She was sunburnt just thinking about it. But at the same time, a change of scenery seemed exactly like what she needed. Maybe some sun would do her good, lots of it.

Dominick hugged her tight, ruffling her hair like one of his kids. Left alone again, her thoughts came rushing back as did the rings on the telephone. This time, she picked up the phone and Elvis must have been so surprised by an answer that he didn’t speak, he just waited on another ring to check if this was happening.

“Frannie? Frannie. What’s this about you leaving the movie? Talk to me… you know that interview is all bogus. You can’t really believe it! Anyone could have said those things!”

“And our trip?!”

“Maybe we were being followed! You have to believe me. I’d never do that to you. You know how private I like to keep my business...”

“I can’t believe you! I just can’t! It all just seems too convenient to me that—that you never wound up in the hospital with an allergic reaction to the makeup on set. Your clothes never tore, your shoes never broke. Your home was never ransacked. Your most private memories weren’t trampled through and sold to the highest bidder—still out there waiting to be drip-fed to the press. I—Elvis, I can’t even remember everything I’ve written in my diary over the years.” She inhaled sharply; she couldn’t get enough air.

“Frannie, take a breath. You need to calm down. You’re not thinking about things clearly. Why would I do anything to sabotage you? This is our movie. We’re in this together. Do you know how many strings I had to pull just so I could get on camera with you? Colonel Parker wouldn’t budge until I gave him a bigger cut.”

“Your nasty Colonel is the same man who gave me the newspaper with that… awful article. Elvis, I don’t want to lose faith in you. I want to trust you, but I simply can’t. There’s too much that’s happened and it’s making me sick the more I think about it.”

The room was starting to spin again. Her heartbeat was like a strobe, making the lights brighter with each pulse. She leaned against the arm of her settee. It was nothing like her other. So many things were changing, even her body felt different.

“So, what’s there left for me to say? Is there nothing I can do to make you change your mind?” She could hear him switch the phone to his other ear. “Because if you won’t talk to me, I’m coming down there. This isn’t right, Frannie. You know how I feel about you. You know I love you, Goddamnit.”

“Don't say that!” She gasped, like he’d struck her. “Don’t say that to me!” He was pure evil, holding those words until the last possible second. When he felt most afraid of losing his grip on her. That’s what this had all been about. His control over her, on set and in real life. If he got close to her off camera, there was nothing she could hide from him. She wouldn’t be his friendly competition anymore, she would be another one of his playthings, another woman tamed, another notch in his belt. She wondered how many other girls he’d confessed his undying love for, just to get them to stay another night.

“Why don’t you want to hear me say that, Francesca? Do you really hate me that much now?” The anguish in his voice was enough to make her second guess her words. It cut like a knife, the blade twisting when his pitiful voice would crack. “Fine. Have it your way. You have my number. You have a whole lot of me, Frannie.”

She listened to the static of silence on the receiver, threading between their ears like spider silk, ready to write her words.

“You have a whole lot of me, too, Elvis Presley.”

Their parting was tender enough, but that’s what frustrated Elvis the most about it. She wouldn’t answer most of his calls. She wouldn’t open the door. When he tried throwing pebbles at her window again, she didn’t come to meet him. She’d almost entirely cut him out of her life and perhaps the most painful part was how easy it seemed for her to do it.

It was going on nearly two weeks and each day trudged slower than the last. He went to the studio a few times, but the only thing left to film was an impossible scene. They might have a movie without that final duet, but it wouldn’t have half the heart, and Cassandra was devastated at the suggestion of trimming anymore fat. Elvis ached for her too, she was carrying a silent burden, trying to keep everyone on set smiling. She still had a payroll to make.

“You know, I’ve always been able to tell when to back down. I think that’s a good quality for someone to have. Does that make sense? Or does that just make me a quitter?” Cassandra was talking more to herself than him as she slowly drug a virginia slim down to the filter, tamping it out on the galvanized metal siding, dotted black with countless butts.

“I didn’t stop believing in her. Or you,” Elvis admitted.

Back home, he didn’t try calling her again. Well, for about half an hour before he couldn’t stand it anymore, but this time, he got nothing like what he expected.

Frannie picked up, but she didn’t say anything for a long moment. He heard her inhale and he savored that sound, like she was in his ear for real and not just miles away, avoiding him.

“Elvis, I can’t talk right now. I’m about to step out, can’t you call another time?”

“Why won’t you at least let me see you one more time? I can’t stand feeling so disconnected from you.” It was impossible for them to communicate solely like this, unable to see each other face to face, even if he could perfectly envision her sultry eyes and her red lips, the dark whirls of her hair framing her beguiling smile.

“I’m leaving, Elvis. I’m hanging up now.” But she paused again. He could hear her tighten her grip on the phone.

“Then why did you even answer me in the first place?”

Static. She hadn’t hung up. Her lips parted, he heard her take another breath. “Elvis, I feel like I should tell you something.”

He slumped into the couch, his heart racing. Say it, tell me. “I’m listening, Frannie. You can tell me anything.” He needed to hear her say it, that she loved him, too. That she was sorry for how she was trying to end things. He knew his persistence would pay off, and that was before the opal necklace he’d had made for her— sitting close to his chest in his breastcoat.

“Elvis, I’m… I don’t feel really well.”

“I might be… oh, I’ll just come out with it. There’s a chance that I could be pregnant.”

The emphasis on that last word struck him like a hammer. Recognition struck. Flashes of images arose in his mind of cold snowy mornings by the fire. Where they’d made love in primal, abandon fashion.

A wash of unfamiliar warmth, of stirring potential glinted in his eyes. He was speechless. The thought of Francesca, swelling with his child, was enough to make him swoon. She was going to have his child. He—

“Elvis. Did you hear me?”

“Yes! Yes. My God, Frannie. I’m on the way now. You can’t do this by yourself.”

“No, no, no. See, you’re—you’re getting… carried away. Just, listen to me for a moment, please. My monthly is late, and my mornings are horrible. I’m going to see a doctor now just to be sure.”

“Of course! Do you want me to meet you there?” He was overflowing with a frightening sense of giddiness. All at once, his future seemed more unsure and more hopeful than it’d ever been. It was like he could reach out and grasp it, a purpose that finally grounded him, fulfilled him.

Ah, but Frannie’s voice, the things she was saying, there was no elation. There was only a quivering fear. He could hear the tinny pitch of her voice when she swallowed. He could see the tears streaming on her beautiful face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m nervous enough about taking myself. It’d be over if we were seen together.”

“What will be over?”

“My career.”

To him, that seemed like a small price to pay.

Her apartment it was then. He waited out on the street for her to pull up, he wasn’t sure what to expect her in. With the evening sky darkening overhead, a few plips of rain stained the asphalt, precursors before the clouds dropped and curtains fell. He could barely see down the street past sheets of rain. Oncoming headlights, each pair, he hoped they were her. After another hour, maybe more of listening to the radio, intermittently cranking the car on to use the wipers—Frannie pulled up in a little yellow taxi.

She was dressed in all black, unassuming and dour but undeniably classy. Her pencil skirt flourished around her ankles, her small feet perfect in glossy black flats. She was quite obscured from the public eye. Any unassuming fan glancing her way wouldn’t be able to recognize her beneath her cat’s eye sunglasses and wide brimmed hat.

Elvis couldn’t get to her fast enough. He cut the car off and jogged across the street, dodging traffic as he made his way to her. Shucking off his jacket and holding it over their heads, Frannie glanced casually at him before fanning open a clear umbrella for them both.

She smiled at him and stepped closer. His arms were around her before he could think, before she could protest, before he could be bothered to worry about any onlookers. Her body was warm, trembling. In that instant, he felt inexplicably drawn to her—more so than ever before. But when he went to kiss her, she let him land only briefly before motioning quickly for him to follow.

“Good heaven, just get inside, dummy,” she laughed, sprinting across puddling cement to the revolving doors. Bennington greeted them with a tip of his dewed hat.

He was soaked to the bone, she, just so. But the dampness made her already bespoke clothing cling lovingly to her curves. His gaze was rapt, he wondered briefly if he was in a dream as she led them into the newly repaired elevator.

The tension between them was buzzing and he couldn’t stop looking at her. She was beautiful, her hair clinging to her face from the rain.

“I miss you so much,” he respired, turning towards her, just barely resisting pinning her against the wall. With his hand clasping her stubborn little chin, he turned her face towards him, dipping his head in for a kiss. But the elevator lurched to a stop and Elvis composed himself swiftly as a duo of retired elderly ladies stepped in, blinking wearily but amicably at the two of them.

The polite greetings passed as the ladies exited at the next floor and Frannie snickered, rubbing her face in her palm, like she savored her first laugh of the day.

“I missed you, too,” she admitted as the doors opened.

“Not enough to return my calls.” He pouted, only slightly playing it up. She still had a vice grip around his heart. It was a dangerous position to be in, a high that kept climbing and he didn’t know when it was going to end.

“I answered some of them,” she retorted, turning the key in her door. He watched as she winced before opening inside. Preparing for the worst. But relief washed over her features and she scooped up her cat who greeted her loudly (or begged for a refill on the kibble).

Her apartment had changed, most notably… There were moving boxes. Decorations had been taken off the wall. Most of her furniture was gone.

“Where are you going, Frannie?” He asked point blank, leaving her no room to dodge. But she didn’t squirm as she took off her glasses and hung up her hat, kicking off her shoes to sit beside him on the couch. She relaxed against him, like he hadn’t asked her anything—and with how sweetly she was curled against him right now, he was second guessing repeating himself.

“Frannie.” He brushed back her stray bangs, watching the corners of her mouth turn in.

“Phoenix.”

“Phoenix?” He asked. She settled deeper against him, her hand across his chest. She was relaxed, breathing slowly, like she could fall asleep at any second. “Is it for a movie?”

“Mmmhm.” She nodded, sitting up suddenly, her lovely eyes level with his. “I think it would be good for me to get out of this city for a while. Filming doesn’t start until May, but I found this beautiful townhouse in the suburbs to lease for a bit.”

Elvis could appreciate how easily she talked to him, but her lack of restraint was cutting him.

“What did the doctor say today?” He was dying to know. If she was carrying his child, he was going to need to make several sudden changes. But if it was for his family, he’d happily do it.

Frannie clearly didn’t want to talk about her potential pregnancy. Maybe it scared her, maybe she thought childbirth was painful. But he would see her through every bit of it. She wouldn’t ever be alone.

Although, Colonel Parker might have a few things to say about Elvis and Francesca’s situation at hand. He decided then and there not to tell him, not until the time was right.

Frannie nodded, with her hand bundled tightly in her lap and her face downward. He could see tears gathering at the corner of her eye. His heart ached to see her in distress. Arms winding around her, he pulled her close against his chest.

“I’m pregnant,” she breathed. Biting her lip so hard it whitened, she shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t be pregnant, Elvis!”

But he was already happily embracing her, thinking about the family they were going to start together!

“It’s alright! We can make it through this. You know I can support you and our little one,” he assured her. But the moment those affirming words left his mouth, he knew he’d regret them by the callous look she whipped at him.

“Support me?” Frannie reiterated. “Me? Elvis. I can support myself just fine. And you and I both know there… that there’s no way for a baby. Not right now.”

His brows knitted together. Confusion struck him. “Well, what do you mean there’s no way? If you’re worried about me being there, I’ll be the best dad a kid could ask for. I’ll marry you.”

Frannie threw her hands up, her face was burnt red. Tears streamed. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. She pointed at him. Lowered her hand. Opened her mouth. A small sound escaped and she buried her face in her palms.

“Elvis, we can’t do this!” She wailed.

“Frannie, Francesca, please, look at me. Talk to me. We can. We can.”

“I don’t want to!” She gasped. Like the words hadn’t meant to slip. “I can’t just put my career on hold. I’m just getting started, Elvis. I can’t stop now to raise a family and keep a home. I want to–”

“So, what are you saying? What do you think we should do about this then?”

Frannie’s frustration built to the point that she looked ready to scream. He’d never seen her so upset before and all he wanted to do was say the right thing to help make it better. But everything he did seemed to just be making things worse and worse.

He gathered her in his arms. He could almost feel the pieces of her shaking apart, like if he didn’t hold her close enough that she’d crumble. She turned into him. He could smell nothing but her intoxicating perfume. Her dark hair fell like waves over her shoulders.

“I just want you to hold me for right now,” Frannie whispered, burying her face in his neck.

“I can do that.” He could do anything for her, all she needed to do was ask. “You’re shaking like a leaf, Frannie…” He stroked her back, her tightly bound muscles cleaving against his gentle touch.

She melted into him and he wanted to rejoice. He praised her with his love. Lightly at first, like the rain that’d softened outside.

Elvis kissed her forehead, inhaled her feminine scent with his eyes squeezed shut. Thunder rumbled outside. There wasn’t any space between them anymore. It was electric, feeling her so close once again. He had been spoiled by her, he craved only her. His dreams were haunted by a dark haired goddess.

When he was aroused, he desired her—thought of her. She was the pinnacle of desire in his mind. He didn’t know why she didn’t believe him, but he truly did love her. The depth of his feelings could only be conveyed in the same way he’d always done so, with his touch and with his giving.

Frannie unbundled beneath him, breathing in his air. He kissed the fine bridge of her nose. Her eyes fanned shut and she tilted her head up to receive the next one. When his lips made contact with hers, it was crushing. He couldn’t get close enough. He slanted his lips against hers, fed his tongue into her mouth, felt her hesitant reciprocity.

She gasped, her hands clinging to him while he kissed her. His hands wove through her wild tresses, freeing it from the shiny little pins. He glanced down at her graceful neckline, and saw the pearl necklace he’d bought her months ago. She wore him over her heart still, even while she supposedly couldn’t stand to see him.

Here, she was fawning for more, reaching up for him passionately while he laid her back on the couch. Lightning flashed outside and they were caught staring at each other, just breathing.

He wanted her. He needed her. And every bit of Frannie said she needed him too.

Her knees parted just slightly, letting him slip in between her thighs. He settled against that softness and groaned, his arms shaking while propping himself upright. How he’d missed this. Frannie had inadvertently lowered his tolerance, heightening the experience even more. Had she planned to rile him up like this? Was she scared that he might abandon her? Maybe this was her way of playing hard to get— albeit later in the game than most women would dare.

“Frannie…” He purred, cradling her face in his hands and melding his mouth against hers. She tasted like cinnamon. Her cheeks were flushed pink still from her tears.

“Elvis— we shouldn’t,” she bit out, that protest prancing away when he lowered his attention to her sensitive nape. Instinctively, she turned her head to the side to give him better access to her neck. She adored when he painted his kisses here, or the occasional love bite. His mark was already thoroughly on her.

“Why not? Tell me that you want me to stop and I might.” He wouldn’t. He continued his path, pawing at the neckline of her dainty black top. Peeling it down with his greedy hands and with his teeth, he freed her lush breasts. He wanted to whip her into a frenzy. How could she be so cold towards him when all he felt for her was molten heat burning him up from the inside?

Elvis was crazy about her. He just wanted her crazy for him, too. He really thought she was. But somehow, he’d messed things up royally along the way. If she would just give him a chance to make it up to her—he would spend all of his time making it right. Making her happy.

But Frannie was pulling away from him, at first physically, but he could see her withdrawing from him entirely, even while she was still panting from his attention. She scooted up and at a distance from him, leaving him feeling cold in her absence.

He reached for her, stroking her arm. He couldn’t bear to have her pull entirely away.

“Elvis, you know I can’t have this baby.”

“No, I don’t know that.”

Francesca looked at him, her eyes pleading for him to understand, for him to listen. And he knew. He knew exactly what she meant, what she wanted. What he should say. But he just couldn’t bring himself to agree. It felt like the moment he cleaved, she’d be gone. The thread cut and Frannie would dance out of his life, merrily wagging her finger and leaving him a broken hearted mess while she went on to fame and stardom— all things that she deserved. But didn’t his happiness matter, too?

“I hate that I’m having to even make this decision. I can’t believe we were so careless. I… I just can’t help but feel that we met each other at the wrong time. We met too soon.”

As much as those words cut, they also rang true. He understood her. He felt an undeniable draw to her. Francesca Ferrara was his soulmate, but perhaps they had met too soon.

“So, what do you think we should do?” He asked. He wanted to hear her say it. The decision was ultimately hers. Try as he might, he couldn’t force her to do anything that she didn’t want. Not that he desired to. Elvis wanted Frannie as his wife because she wanted to be, not because she had to be out of societal pressure.

“God, I really don’t want to say it. The word, but… I’ll get… I’ll go to the doctor to have it taken care of. I can’t be that far along, maybe I can just take the pill...”

Elvis blinked. She’d been thinking this over. How long had she’d known? And sat alone in this emptying apartment with that heavy burden all solely placed on her shoulders. It broke his heart to picture her, with her knees drawn up to her chest.

“Frannie, is this really our only choice?”

“And my other option is what, exactly, Elvis? Who is going to hire a pregnant actress? The moment I start showing, it’s curtains for me. Even if I try to hide it—someone will find out. Someone always finds out! You can’t have these kinds of secrets. You have to know how relentless they are for any crumb of something. I’ll be plastered all over the papers, slandered, rumors—oh, God, the rumors. Is the baby actually Elvis Presley’s?” She shuddered. “I want to see just how far I can go. Is that so selfish of me?”

Elvis had so much left in him to push for it. He wanted to argue that it was better—it was right—for her to take her place in the homestead and help raise this baby, but… he would be lying if he said he didn’t see the logic in her decision. Maybe it was selfish of him to try and tie her down. But it made him panic to see her ready to take flight and leave him on the wire, watching after her as she soared.

“I know that you don’t want to hear any of this,” Frannie laughed bitterly, sniffling as she absently looked at the backs of her hands. “But you’re the only one I can talk to. I haven’t even told Dominick. Not that I plan to. I think it would be for the best if we went our separate ways after this.”

Neither of them spoke for a long pause. He nodded, understanding and respecting her intent, her decision, even while it burned him to agree. But loosening his grip might be the only chance he had at keeping her in his life. He was watching her slip through his fingers in real time.

“There’s really nothing I can say, is there?”

“I don’t really think you’re going to talk your way out of this one,” she smiled wryly, sympathetically. It apologized when she couldn’t bring herself to yet. “I’m sorry, Elvis. I am. Right now isn’t the right time for either of us to settle down. We’ve got so much left to do before we get married. I don’t want to be a wife yet, Elvis. I want–God, it sounds so stupid. I want to be a star.”

To him, she already was. She always would be. Brighter than them all, outshining her peers. Even him.

Colonel Parker was over the moon to have Elvis back almost entirely within his clutches. And with him more sad and more down and out than ever before with Frannie in Phoenix, his kniving agent found the perfect opportunity to deepen his influence.

The start was an influx up upper and downers just to help him get through the day. The boys were a marvelous help. Especially Red and Joe who were constantly by Elvis’s heartbroken side. He still tried to call her, even when the phone line went dead. He tried her number, thinking maybe it could be a trick and she was just waiting for him to call her bluff. She wasn’t really moving, but…

Elvis went to her apartment days later. She’d called him once more, only to tell him that the procedure had been a success and that he’d lost almost every piece of her. It gutted him to hear the pain in her voice when she told him that the ultrasound showed there was nothing. She was free to do as she pleased with her life.

Without him.

He remained in town for just another few weeks before it became too much for him and he too needed a complete change of scenery. He was still compensated for his time on the set of Gambling on Your Love and as far as the press knew, the movie was just stuck in development hell, which wasn’t entirely a lie. It was still possible for the film to find its footing—it just needed one more duet.

But Frannie would have none of it. No one could get in touch with her. Even Dominick didn’t return any of his calls, and he was always the staunch connection between Francesca and the vying directors and big wigs.

Time passed slowly and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She always occupied his mind. He wondered where she was in Phoenix. Did she like the warm air? Was she enjoying the view? What did her tastefully decorated townhouse look like now? Her outfit today? Was she trying a new perfume? If he could figure out her address, he could send her something. A letter. A gift. That necklace he never gave her.

But maybe, he could simply give her peace of mind. Frannie had run away from him, but she’d also taken on a new role. He couldn’t be happier for her. Well—he could, but it pained him to stay angry at her. He was usually really good at holding a grudge, but it frazzled him, tore at his mind. Was she thinking about him just as much, or was he just going insane?

“Love me Tender, Love me Alien,” Colonel Parker proudly proclaimed, slapping down a script that was too fat for its own good.

Elvis looked up from a bowl of butter pecan ice cream, blinking sleepily at his shrew faced manager.

“Is that a command or a movie?” Elvis picked up the pamphlet, riffling through the schlocky pages of self insistence and ill timed crude humor. Tasteless romance. Derivative plot. Predictable twist. And a C-grade actress he’d never even heard of. Now this felt like the type of movie that Elvis was used to.

“Chateau Marmont is calling your name. Because right after that wraps up, we’ve got,” he slapped down another two scripts. “Heartbreak Hotel of Horrors! Oh, and Curse of the Mummy’s Shaking Hips.”

Each subsequent title made Elvis want to sink deeper into his couch. “Is there anything else floating around?” But the punishing pace Parker set took its toll rather quickly. As long as he could keep payroll going with pictures, he’d star in as many films as it took. He missed touring, but that would have to be shelved for now.

He had to learn to let go of the hard work he’d put into Gambling on Your Love and accept that he’d learned. Working with Frannie had instilled in him a stronger work ethic. He’d practiced, honed his choreography just right, so that his every step would be in sync with hers, nothing calling attention to himself. They’d been perfectly in sync together on screen, it was exhilarating. Beat for beat, Frannie matched him and more.

Elvis shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”

The Colonel pumped his fist, clearly having won. It seemed like ever since Francesca moved out of his life, his agent was more jovial. It was almost indicative of… something.

“I told you that movie wouldn’t work out, didn’t I? I warned you about working with young talent like that. It was a real gamble,” he laughed at his own pun, nudging Elvis crudely with his elbow. “See, if you just trust in your agent, he’ll steer you right. I haven’t led you wrong before, have I?”

At that remark, Elvis’ stomach roiled, but the Colonel would only see the money they made, not the impact Elvis felt he so desperately lacked.

“Yeah, you’ve gotten me this far.” He managed to relay, though as of late, he was less and less trusting of Colonel Parker. Frannie had mentioned him in particular. Elvis wondered if maybe his meddling agent was the one behind all of the on-set mischief, perhaps even the break-in. But even the Colonel wasn’t so malicious, just greedy.

“I have, haven’t I? So what do you say? You in?”

Like he even had a choice. “I don’t suppose anything else has come in.”

“Oh, plenty. You’ve got them clamoring for you, kid. You might even have to go back on tour soon, just to keep the music current. We can’t have your voice getting left out of the spotlight.” Or, in other words, the Colonel wanted to market the absolute shit out of every aspect of Elvis. His look, his charisma, his personality. His agent loved it when he played it up and leaned into the rockstar playboy charm.

Anything to get his mind off of this pain. He needed to stop thinking about her or he was going to start tearing his hair out. His stylist would explode. He had to remain composed. He had to remain relaxed, like his heart wasn’t crumbling.

Frannie had told Elvis that he was one of the only people she could talk to. Elvis rarely made new friends. People often wanted to make acquaintances and more with him, and he wasn’t opposed to it happening— but it often never did, naturally, anyhow. He had a small circle of friends and Frannie had inadvertently wormed her way into that circle, because that’s what he felt was amiss. A very near and dear friend.

Los Angeles was… not his favorite destination. The party life never stopped, relentless lights, women and drugs. He had to resolve himself, to only imbibe when he had the time to treat himself. But his heart felt like someone had blended it.

Elvis hopped in the elevator with his boys. It felt just like old times. Joe was saying something about a new club opening down the street, open until 4 am. But Elvis wasn’t really listening to what anybody had to say. He was out of it for the most part, leaning against the rumbling wall and feeling the weight of himself. Rocketed up and up to the highest floor, he stepped out to new hopes, stumbling on paisley carpet.

Elvis wearily made his way down the corridor, flanked by his close-knit group of friends. Each step felt heavier than the last, burdened by the emotional turmoil he couldn't escape. Despite the upbeat chatter around him, his mind lingered on thoughts of Frannie, the one person who seemed to have cracked the surface of his guarded heart.

The hotel room door loomed ahead, a temporary refuge from the chaos outside. The keycard slid into the slot, granting access to a space where Elvis could momentarily escape the relentless pulse of Los Angeles. The room greeted him with subdued lighting, plush furnishings, and an air of hushed luxury. He loved this hotel and its castle-esq structure, the staff were all personable and timely, but still gleeful when handed a fat tip from Elvis Presley. But celebrities were the hotel’s usual clientele, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him being here. He recognized some of them from his previous stays here.

He liked to take long walks in the Huntington Botanical Gardens. Beauty and solitude abound, everyone was usually too dazzled by the myriad of exotic blooms to focus on one well dressed man amongst them. He wondered if Frannie had ever been.

Elvis wandered through the room, the gravity of his emotions etched on his face. He was a man known for his composure on stage, but in this private sanctuary, the weight of unspoken feelings pressed upon him. He glanced at the king-sized bed, an island of solitude in the midst of a stormy sea of emotions.

As Elvis sank onto the bed, the echoes of Frannie's words resonated in his mind. She had become a confidante, a rare gem in a world that often sought more from him than he was willing to give. Their friendship had become a lifeline, a tether to reality amidst the glitz and glamor of his stardom. He really didn’t know how he was supposed to find another girl like her. It felt like a one in a million comet, a shooting star he’d missed his chance to make a wish on.

In an attempt to escape the clutches of heartache, Elvis decided to draw the heavy curtains open. With a sigh, he gazed out of the hotel room window, his eyes drawn to the shimmering lights of the city below. The relentless pulse of Los Angeles, the city of dreams and illusions, seemed distant from the confines of his room. The sprawling urban landscape stretched out before him, a canvas of possibilities and uncharted territories.

Parting the curtains revealed a spectacular view of the cityscape. Yet, what captured his attention wasn't the sprawling city lights but a distant billboard, illuminated against the night sky. As the light spilled into the room, he recognized the familiar face of Francesca Ferrara, adorned in glamorous attire, promoting her latest movie. Whispers of Silk.

A bittersweet smile crept onto Elvis's face. The universe seemed to mock him with reminders of Frannie's presence, even in the solitude of his hotel room. Yet, it was a distraction, a tangent from his own heartache. As the billboard loomed in the distance, Elvis sank into a chair, contemplating the complexities of his emotions in the glow of the city that never slept.

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