|| Prologue: Lovely Lifesaver ||
A/N: I'm back my lovely's, but seems like most have disappeared as well:( Hope my story reaches all you Elvis fans and especially that anon who requested the 60s!elvis x horror scriptwriter because this here is the prologue, I know you wanted an age differ !! Please enjoy my readers, I know I did ♡ (may tweak it later)
Summary: Dorothy Hills grows up with dreams far bigger than her circumstances. As she finally reunites with the the boy next door, Elvis, she finds herself caught between familiarity and something far more complicated. When an opportunity in Los Angeles feels just out of reach, she turns to a long-forgotten promise Elvis once made.
Warnings: goes through year 1960 & up to 1961, small time skips, trope can be iffy due to 4ge gap, nothing intimate happens, grey areas, historically stark at times, may be problematic world-viewed in todays age, her thoughts about him being a bit unhinged teengirl hysteria
Both had lived just adjacent to one another on Audubon Drive in Memphis. Back then, Dorothy was just a little thing, watching over her on occasion, much like a big brother. The last time she saw him, he left her with a promise to make the little one merry as a cricket, which she grasped on to but seemed to forget about as puerility left. That was until she saw him after his years in service—a fresh ex-GI walking up her porch with his father at his side to pay her folks a visit. Personally wanting to express appreciation for paying homage at the funeral of his momma, Gladys. She still remembers it so clearly. Even after the Presleys had only lived next door for a year or so, the Hills family had continued to stay in touch with them, but they had not disclosed it to her. Therefore. Like a lost memory opening up in the back of her mind when she saw him for the first time in a long time. Satin ribbons knotted in her locks, an attempt at salon curls when she'd take them out, fluttered in the breeze, catching the last rays of light. Lace curtains billowed in the American dream home as she watched from the porch. Her ma followed behind as her father stepped out the front door. And instead of driving up to his vacant castle, the car stood in front of her picket-fenced house, where he used to hang around with the fans from when his career had first skyrocketed, and he emerged from the passenger seat, his service hat held between his side and arm. Walking towards her house's steps, the setting sun created a halo around his silhouette that appeared to be sculpted now—no more of that baby fat she'd recalled and his hair, in its natural fairness.
He watched Dorothy intensely that day, it seemed he was struggling to figure out who this abloom and nicely filled out at the hips fille was. Like a true american pulchritude sweeheart, rooted in southern soil, an ingenue flowering like some magnolia in spring.
It required a considerable amount of time for him. She'd seen the recognition dawn on his face as he finally realized who she was. "Lil' nancy?" He said it with a dopey smile as he pointed a finger at her once it finally struck him. 'Lil nancy', was a nickname he'd assigned for her when he'd noticed her snooping at newspapers for Hollywood's latest news when she was younger. Short for Nancy Drew, he'd believed she had her snubbed nose lodged in the papers to look at impish tabloids, really, it was to see whatever would be written about the movies.
Dorothy's fatal dream had grown as she did—a dream to be in the film world.
And well, not much of him was seen after that, though, his stare that day, had been etched in her mind. She had never felt so scuddy, yet a part of her was strangely honied? She couldn't describe it. Much like a peach near ripe for the picking. Or was it just her imagination lulling her into thinking a guy would perceive her that way?
Around this time, her fondness for the silver screen was immense, but the thing was, she didn't have a way to pursue her dream, her momma and daddy didn't have the income to give her the support. Dorothy's momma was also not so fond of the idea, she was more anachronistic, and she couldn't fathom why her daughter wasn't in search of a wooer like the other girls had already been. Rather than doing that, Dorothy had taken matters into her own hands. When she discovered a film studies class at school, a new world opened up to her. She was enthralled by the history of cinema, the art of storytelling through film, and the power of visual storytelling. Pouring herself into every assignment, every film screening, and every discussion in class. Her daddy had never seen such an animated creature when she would tell him about everything the course had to offer. And so he encouraged it, a pillar of unwavering support he was for his little girl.
Adding to that, her class went on an overview of the horror genre, and so she fell into a rabbit hole of horror and thriller novels alongside films.
Late nights at drive-ins were spent secretly reveling in these eerie delights, which included works by Hitchcock with his suspense, Corman and his renowned creatures, and others such as Price's chilling tales. It was then that Dorothy began penning her own little drafts. In an attempt to evoke the same feeling of dread that had enthralled her in the films of her favorite directors, she experimented with various styles and techniques. Her teacher noticed her knack for writing, and encouraged her to explore it further. With their advice, she delved deeper into the world of storytelling and even started inputting her own scripts on a typewriter.
When her first semester as a third-year got underway, she was like a wordsmith in the making, with five approved pieces within the course, a testament to her talent. Only the reality was that her school didn't have sufficient resources to reach her full potential, so they encouraged her to finish schooling in Los Angeles if this was really going to be her pursuit, given that schools over there had a stronger focus on the arts and entertainment industries. If doing so, they'd laid out the possibility that she would surely have scripts made into pictures before she even graduated. …
Still, Dorothy's folks didn't have the funding for a place to lease in the sunny state.
That was until she saw him again, seasons had gone by in a full circle since the last time, and now that year was closing off as well. The two of them renewed their connection in warm matters, and so she spent days discussing the movie industry when he visited Memphis in between shooting his tenth film, Kid Galahad. At that time, she was on thanksgiving break, and his hair seemed to be slightly darker but still fair, like it was outgrowing dye but still a little brown, occasionally paired with a black sailor hat. It wasn't hard to pick up on his conduct, which seemed to be brutish, then recalled.
Or, had she just envisioned somebody else when she was younger?
Though, never towards her, of course, only when he was on the telephone, her coral telephone, that sat on the crocheted doily of her bedside, with whomever was on the other line.
Perhaps it was something he had developed from having been surrounded by men for so long, she thought. He would also bemoan to her about his father, telling her how the women he had married had made him blind. He was real heartfelt about it, too. And so, Elvis easily fell into familiarity with the Hills' home. He'd begun dropping by her house a number of times, when he was in Memphis, said he loved her mother's cooking, probably due to the fact that Gladys and her own momma shared recipes when the Presleys lived next door. Stopping by was a particular thing he found refuge in for awhile on days his schedule would be empty. It confused Dorothy a bit, the way he was with her folks compared to how he was when it was just them two. In a way, she understood that he wanted to display his most respectful and secure side in front of them. So it didn't bother her. With her, he'd recall things about when he lived next door, like he was longing for the past. It would be her first time witnessing his vulnerability—a tender side that seemed lost without his momma.
Why he trusted her to view that side of him, she didn't know. What were his intentions? Why, me? Maybe it was just because he felt comfortable with her, like he could let down his guard. It made her feel special; in fact, here was this bravado movie star displaying himself to her in a way that no one else got to see—well, she hoped. But the quiet of their long talks, alone times she'd spend by his side, of course, with the permissiveness of her folks, and... that face he carried caused something to ignite in Dorothy. They both had bonded without her knowledge or accord, and, all of a sudden, she sensed a sudden tremor.
It was then that she'd begun to feel a little different around him, watching those sleepy blues as he softened and opened up in front of her. But though this gentleman was wearing his heart upon his sleeve, a girlish part of her kept letting her mind muse upon overheard locker talk between the tales told by girls so bold when it'd come to the male specimen. Guilt-ridden by these immodest thoughts creeping in as he bared his soul to her, she just couldn't help it. Dorothy couldn't help that his bonnie features were indeed captivating—the manner in which he wore that dumb sailor hat, those piercing blue eyes that seemed to gnaw at her—it was enough to make any girl feel like a deer in headlights. It was the same stare he'd left her with the first time come around—the one she'd ponder of when she lay in her childhood linen bed late at night. And oh God, his face—he had this chiseled jawline and these perfectly symmetrical features now, all of which only added to his movie-star appeal. A sense of shame, maybe? It felt like she would objectify him, reducing him to just his physical appearance at times.
"Oh, but how could I resist the temptation when faced with such dizzyin' beauty? But please forgive me for oglin' at you like this, I promise there's more to you than just those sharp looks." She ought to berate herself, she'd say consciously.
Nonetheless, she swore she'd catch stolen glances and the sugary way in which his hand felt on her shoulder—or -was it simply her? A portion of her considered she was kidding herself. He was off in Hollywood all the time, where girls had locks piled high, were sleek and chic, and looked powdered and primed all the time. His visits had to only have been something of a relatedness. The gent never even attempted trying anything with her, not even a slight sway, which she'd so deep down wanted him to.
"I've painted my lips all pretty, kiss me, fool." She'd chided in her head.
Then, there was this subconscious need in her for these cravings to be stilled, quelled. When she'd realized this on her own, she caught herself playing the part. Which particular one? Well, the one of a fille who couldn't help but blush and falter over her words whenever she spoke in his presence. Where she felt akin to a shy fawn when receiving his attention, yet still unable to tear her eyes away from him. Stumbling like a baby doe taking her first steps. Thus, she chastised herself internally, reminding herself that acting this way was out of character. Dorothy wanted to become something of herself for crying out loud, not fall puppy-love sick like all the other girls in her grade had been. That wasn't like her at all, and she had to regain her composure before things escalated further for her.
It'd been best to deny that attraction and remember who she truly was underneath all the fluttering feelings. Moreover, she pushed away any girly feelings she may have had because she felt that Elvis was like family, because he had been like a big brother to her when she was younger.
Maybe that's why he'd considered her during those times.
If Elvis had noticed, she would have never known because he never commented on how much she would quietly ogle. Who knew how long she'd harbor this unspoken desire before it rose again.
In all of that, it became a routine, his visits, she found herself looking forward to whenever he would drop by during her break. Not because of that smittenness she'd buried, but because he would share insights on how it was to be on set in the production of movies. Told her about the picture he was finishing up and about the character he was playing in it. In between the talks of movies, he showed a real dislike for all the roles he had landed so far, all of which had him singing. But he still exhibited that he was determined to become one of the pros.
He also shared interesting moments that had gone over in Los Angeles.
One time, he haplessly told poor Dorothy about a raucous night out with some girls on set, revealing a side of him that was definitely a 'dirty bird'. He dismissed his words quickly with,
"Aw, what am I sayin', uh'girl like you don't need to hear about all that."
He seemed to forget he was talking to a novice missy and not one of the guys back at Perugia Way by the manner in which she was just so interested in listening to anything he would say that went on in his life. Simply made an effort to ignore what she had heard and tittered it off. Dorothy might not have wanted to destroy the mental picture of him that she had created. However, his words remained in the back of her mind, which created a sense of curiosity about what his life was like on the West Coast.
|She would later find out, and it would be one of the many first glimpses of coming across his boastful side.|
These escapades persisted when school started up again and his production was wrapping up filming, she was quite glad, she got to admire his face and get insight into the film industry and from someone who was actually working in it. She fangirled internally, trying to play it cool on the outside, but deep down, Dorothy had been thrilled to learn more about his experiences and to get a peek into the glamorous world of Hollywood.
At last she’d built the courage, she gradually told him of the opportunity Los Angeles held for her if she finished her last year of schooling over there. He inquired as to what her parents had thought. Dorothy told him her father's reaction—his pride had been all wounded and bummed; he couldn't provide for his only offspring, and her mother—well, you know, her beliefs are set in stone.
"Ya don't like the idea of becoming someone's little wife?" Elvis crowingly taunted, before he received a wack on the arm from her. She rolled her eyes at his teasing and explained that it wasn't about becoming someone's wife, but about pursuing her own dreams. Expressing to Elvis how necessary it was for her to make a profession of herself. She shared that she had always been drawn to the entertainment industry, a siren calling to her, and believed Los Angeles was the place to make that dream a reality. Elvis nodded understandingly, his gaze showing open understanding in some way. "I understand, darlin'," he commented with a subtle deride.
Memories began resurfacing at this point, and so did that valueless, empty promise.
"E-Elvis, ya remember that promise you'd made when I was little?"
She so easily sought out one evening. Elvis looked at her with a twinkle in his eye, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
"What? Yur' not little, no'mor?" Elvis quipped, a jocular glint in his eyes. His playful response left her feeling a little amused, but she couldn't help but give him an incredulous look.
"Im bein' serious, Elvis."
"Well, now, my memory might not be so sharp after spendin' my days in 'em rumbling tanks," he joked. Fiegning a laugh. Like the ones you'd give someone your senior to get something in return.
"The one you'd given me last time I saw you," she paused, how silly it all seemed now—the memory of him, kneeling beside her in '56 when she scraped her knee.
"I'm always here ta help, promise." His hushed voice still remains, then he lifted her back to her feet, a simple act of familial kindness etched in time.
"Oh, nevermind," Dorothy shrugged off the thought. "Shoot," he prodded as he looked at her intently. With that, the lightbulb had flicked on brighter. She rehearsed the old incident for him, hoping to jog his memory. "You said you'd always be there to help," she recollected, a smile forming on his face as he attempted to remember.
He only smiled, because his ego was fed by the fact that she seemed to hang on every syllable. But in her case, it wouldn't have really mattered whether he did or didn't, she had just been endeavoring to use the resources around her to get to the West.
"Ah, the lil promise I made to you," he chuckled, a hollow one. The memory was indeed lost in time, so, he simply played it off, for her. He had been a busy guy since then -of course he wouldn't have remembered such loose words he'd given a pigtailed Dorothy.
It was a basic gesture back then, but it felt like her last window of opportunity at that point in time. A part of her felt a bit guilty using it against him when it had meant so little, been so easily forgotten. His generosity was also known to her. And how better to test it than the manner in which she conducted herself that day? She was just a girl with a vast dream and an even greater imagination, clinging to any sliver of hope that someone would come to her rescue, to be her savior. She distinctly recalled staring at him for a bit before asking him the peculiar favor.
"Well, can I come live with ya in Los Angeles," she shot impulsively with a fastidious look. "This school year is half way through, a-an' maybe come summer I could start livn' there," she continued, not even taking a breath. "I know my daddy'd be willin', w-we just needa ask him," you exclaimed.
We? She used the term "we" since she had already proposed the idea to her father, who had stated that it would only bring Elvis problems. It was juvenile of her to make such a request. But that was just Dorothy, having such a beauty for brevity. The city of angels was practically beckoning her with open arms ever since she’d been entertained by the idea, her mind had already been at the destination. Brevity had been driving her towards a future unknown, uncertain once those scripts were endorsed. Now, she’d imagined that if Elvis was on board, her father would surely embrace change in his first given answer.
She remembers seeing the wheels turning in Elvis' head as he processed her request. He let out a deep exhalation before responding, "I dunno, dovita. It's a big decision to make on a whim like that."
With Elvis' frequent visits also came with her landing a new nickname aside from lil' nancy—dovita. Derived from a dove, her drive for hopefulness in what she wanted and her desire to be set free from where she was, along with her image of purity and that harmonious demeanor, led Elvis to affectionately refer to her as dovita. It was a cute and fitting nickname that stuck, making her smile every time she heard it. But her smile faltered this time, she had felt her heart sink at his words, but she tried to remain auspicious, like always.
"A-Am not askin' for much, just uh'lil grace. I won't cause no commotion, i'll even be quiet as a mouse at your place," she tried sounding humorous, but there was an edge of whine and angst. "I hear ya, darlin', I hear ya loud an' clear. Just a little grace, that's all she's askin' for."
With a deep breath as he saw her pleading, he finally spoke, "I ain't one for gambling, but, figure ya can tag along, if ya promise not to steal the show," he added with a twinkle in his eye as he peaked for a reaction. Dorothy clasped her hands together and shot up from her seat like she was sitting on a hot plate.
“OHH Elvis, thank you, thank you, thank! I’ll be a fly on the wall.” She jumped up and down before tugging at his arm, he enjoyed her enthusiasm with a toothy grin and just let her manhandle his sleeve.
He just let her excitement run its course, laughing under his breath as she near shook the life out of his arm.
“Alright, alright now,” Elvis chuckled, steadying her by the shoulders. “Don’t go faintin’ on me, dovita. I said maybe, not that we’re packin’ your bags tonight.”
Dorothy stilled, though her grin refused to fade. “A maybe from you sounds an awful lot like a yes.”
He’d given her a look—half amused, half measuring. “Only if it’s done proper. I ain’t stealin’ ya away from yur folks like some picture show bandit. We talk to ‘em. Together.”
Her stomach had fluttered at that word again. We. “…You mean it?”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he replied, quieter now. “Not about somethin’ like this.”
That evening, the Hills’ living room had felt smaller than ever. The ticking clock on the wall sounded louder, like it had something to prove. Dorothy sat perched at the edge of the settee, her hands folded tight in her lap. Across from her, her father leaned forward, elbows on his knees, while her mother had sat upright, lips pressed thin.
Elvis stood just off to the side at first, hat in hand, almost like he had when he was a boy—but there was a steadiness to him, something older.
“Well?” her father finally said. “Dorothy says ya got somethin’ to discuss.”
Dorothy inhaled, but the words caught in her throat. For once, the girl who could spin stories so easily had none to give.
“Sir… ma’am,” he began, respectful but firm. “Dorothy’s been tellin’ me about her schoolin’. About Los Angeles. Sounds to me like she’s got a real gift.”
Her mother’s brow furrowed. “A gift doesn’t put a roof over her head.”
“No, ma’am,” he agreed easily. “But it can, if it’s given the chance.”
And her father glanced between them. “And what exactly are you suggestin’, son?”
Elvis shifted his weight, then met his gaze head-on. “I’m sayin’… I got a place out there. People ah’s can trust. Work that keeps me steady. If she’s to go, she won’t be alone in it.”
Dorothy’s heart had thudded so loudly she was sure they could hear it.
Her mother’s voice cut in, sharper. “Ya expect us to send our daughter clear across the country to—what? Chase shadows? Live in that… that industry?”
Dorothy found her voice then. “I-It’s not shadows, Mama. It’s stories. It’s what I’m meant to do.”
“And what about a husband? A family?” her mother pressed.
“I can have those and this,” Dorothy insisted, her voice trembling but resolute. “But I won’t have nothin’ if I never try.”
Her father leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “Ya really believe that, girl?”
“Yes, sir,” she said softly. “With everything in me.”
He’d studied her for a long moment—the same way he used to when she was small and swore she could do something beyond her reach. Only now… she wasn’t so small anymore.
“And you,” he said, turning to Elvis. “You’re willin’ to stake your word on this?”
“I am.” His voice lowered, losing its playful lilt. “A-Ah know what it’s like, wantin’ somethin’ bigger than where you’re from. Folks gave me a shot. I ain’t forgettin’ that.”
He stepped a little closer, not overstepping, but enough to be seen clearly.
“I’ll make sure she’s looked after. Proper. Just like I did when she was a lil thing. She’ll have a roof, guidance, and someone watchin’ out for her every step. You got my word on that Mr. Hills”
Dorothy’s breath hitched.
Her mother looked unconvinced, but something in her father’s expression shifted—softened.
“You always were stubborn,” he muttered, glancing at Dorothy. “Gets that from your mama.”
Her mother shot him a look. “Don’t you start.”
He ignored it, still watching his daughter. “If we say yes… you finish your schooling?”
“Yes, sir,” she said quickly. “I promise.”
“And you don’t forget where you come from.”
Then, with a slow nod, he said, “Alright.”
Dorothy blinked. “Alright…?”
“You go,” he finished. “You chase that dream of yours.”
Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh—Daddy—”
“But,” he added, pointing a finger, “you write. You call. And if anything feels wrong, you come straight home. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!” she nearly cried, rushing forward to throw her arms around him.
Her mother had sighed, though her expression had softened despite herself. “Lord help me… my girl in Hollywood.”
Dorothy turned to her, hopeful. “Mama…?”
Her mother reached out, smoothing a stray curl from her face. “You mind yourself,” she said quietly. “And don’t let that place change who you are.”
“I won’t,” Dorothy whispered.
Later, out on that porch, the night air felt different—lighter, like something had finally given way.
Dorothy turned to Elvis, her eyes shining. “Ya did that.”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. You’s did. I just talked a little.”
She laughed softly, then sobered. “Y-Ya really meant it? What you said in there?”
He looked at her then—not teasing, not distant, but steady in a way she hadn’t seen before.
“I meant every word, my dovita.”
There was a pause, filled only by the hum of cicadas. Her stomach felt warm.
“I’ll take care of ya out there,” he added, quieter. “She’s got my promise now… one I actually remember.”
Dorothy smiled, something warm and certain settling in her chest.
“Good,” she said, tilting her head. “’Cause I plan on holdin’ you to it.”
He grinned, same boyish charm breaking through.
“Ohh ah wouldn’t expect nothin’ less, lil’ Nancy.”
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