Loving Elvis

The room was crowded. Becky had insisted that I went with her. "You can't stay at home moping forever, it's been nearly a year, she said, "broken romances...that's life. She pushed me to the front of the stage and a voice from the darkness boomed, "Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to...

The crowd fell silent as the stage filled with theatrical smoke. From its midst emerged...

"...Elvis Presley.

Dressed in a white cat-suit embellished with rhinestones, he gyrated his hips, strummed a wooden guitar and shouted down at me not to step on his blue suede shoes. I was smitten. His china-black quiff flopped over his forehead as he twisted back and forth across the stage. Becky handed me a Pina Colada that I did not remember drinking. Although, by the time Elvis was down on one knee, singing 'Suspicious Minds', my glass was empty and the straw crushed. Of course, it was not really Elvis Presley, just a tribute to the dead one.

As a finale, Elvis informed me that I was always on his mind and then vanished. The DJ returned and everyone took to the dance floor.

"He was excellent wasn't he?

Becky looked vacant, sipping another cocktail, "Who was?

"Elvis.

"What him? He's a wally. He should be relegated to a TV talent show.

"Well I liked him. I thought he was really like Elvis.

She laughed. "If it makes you forget your Ex, then I definitely approve of him.

"Now folks, announced the DJ, "let's have some more Elvis...

"Are you lonesome tonight? sang the proper Elvis.

I closed my eyes and evaporated.

"Hey, how about dancing with me?

I looked away from my dreams and into the vivid blue eyes of my pretend Elvis. He was still dressed in the white outfit and thick make-up was trickling down his stand up-collar. Entwined, we glided across the floor. The other dancers began to cheer. He looked at me and pouted. I wanted to kiss his lips and as the song ended, Elvis obliged and asked to meet me outside.

"Elvis has asked me out, I announced to Becky who was chatting to a bull-headed man with no neck.

She looked bored, "Suppose I'll have to go home on my own.

"No you won't, I said, "you can come with me and Elvis.

She gave me one of her looks. "It's okay, she said, "I'll get a cab. She glanced at No-Neck. "Besides, I'm not ready yet.

Outside, Elvis was parked in a pink Chevrolet and he sounded the hooter when he spotted me. The club bouncers were standing by the car, fawning over him, as if he really was The King.

He took me to a late-night café bar and we ordered a fry-up. Away from the club he was shy, so I did most of the talking. However, when he looked at me with his tropical-blue eyes, his lack of conversation was not important. His real name was Jimmy and his real-life occupation was a plumber. When he did speak he seemed eager to impress. "I installed a new toilet today in an old lady's house and that was about it. He tapped the side of his head. "...And then of course, I had my sideline, my Elvis act at the club.

I tried to smile, but I did not find his recollections made fascinating conversation.

"Do you fancy coming back to my place? He enquired, as if trying to alleviate my advancing boredom. "It's not far from here.

In for a penny, in for a pound I thought. "Yes Elvis, I mean Jimmy, that would be great.

Elvis's flat was perched above a theatrical dress shop. I looked longingly at a cowboy outfit made out of black satin decorated with silver fringes. The matching hat was peppered with sequins. I easily visualised my Elvis wearing that ensemble.

I settled down on his tapestry sofa and he made me coffee. Surprisingly, the background music was jazz. "Make yourself at home, he said, "I won't be long, I'm just going to shower off my stage make up.

I sipped the coffee and thought of Elvis, and the shivers slithered up and down my spine.

"There, I wasn't long was I?

My face told him I was not expecting his change of character. The glossy black wig was gone. In it's place was a blond cropped head with a pallid complexion, the Las Vegas tan had been rinsed away with the aura. Jimmy was dressed unspectacularly in jeans and a sweatshirt, and when he sat down next to me, I yearned for a man with crystal beading stitched onto white polyester flares. He was himself. But that was who I did not want him to be. I wanted him to be Elvis. The man of my dreams.

He kissed me and I responded to the warmth of his muscular arms as they wrapped themselves around my body. He carefully removed my clothes as only a gentleman would, but it is not what Elvis would have done.

His lovemaking was vaguely satisfying and I had a sort of contentment as I lay in his arms. But there was something missing. His eyes scanned the ceiling, "Joanna did you enjoy that?

I laughed and nuzzled his ear. "Of course I did.

"But it wasn't special was it?

"Of course it was.

His eyes were fierce. "Don't lie Joanna...

It was all going wrong. I liked Jimmy but he was right, it wasn't special because I wanted Elvis. "I'll go now, I said, "you don't have to take me home. I'll call a cab.

He left the room and I searched in my handbag for the number of the taxi company. Before I had a chance to dial the number, Elvis returned, wearing the black wig and the cowboy outfit that had been in the shop window. He was playing the wooden guitar and oh, how he serenaded me. He sang, 'It's the Wonder Of You', and I could tell that he meant every word. He undressed me with liquid hands and our lovemaking was spellbinding. Sheer magic.

I had a very short courtship with Jimmy, and then I threw caution to the wind and confetti into my hair. I like being a plumber's wife: I get my washers replaced instantly and always have the latest design in bathroom suites. Jimmy is an honest man who I know adores me.

And best of all, every Saturday night, after a kebab and a beer, it is Elvis who seduces me and loves me tender.