Warning: Consensual smut, fingering, boys talking about sex and being crude.
Summary: Elvis and the guys get into Shreveport late one Friday night and he runs into Freddie. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Elvis takes her out for dinner as he hopes for something more.
Read it here
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Thanks to my alpha @whositmcwhatsit for reading multiple drafts of this chapter and to all my Elvis fic friends @vintageshanny @from-memphis-with-love @shakerattlescroll @be-my-ally @missmaywemeetagain @powerofelvis @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @ellie-24 for helping me get through the summer and keep hope a live. xoxox
Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist, and thanks for reading. Reblogs, comments feedback and corrections desired and encouraged
co-authored with @thatbanditqueen (and alpha'd/edited/perfected by @whositmcwhatsit)
So, this took us forever + a day (entirely my fault - poor Norah had to put up with me abandoning the document and then popping back in all ‘c’mon now let’s finish this week!’ and falling asleep on her and making her do all the writing) - this all started from a wonderful, fantastic, delicious collaborative fantasy (masterminded, if I remember correctly, by @thatbanditqueen) between @whositmcwhatsit, @ellie-24 and @vintageshanny and myself - about how delicious it would be to be taught karate by elvis.
Now, in turning this into fic some things changed but, I'm pretty sure that just means that everyone needs to write karate fic asap; i think @ellie-24 had some excellent suggestions about jewellery and @vintageshanny on deliciously torn pants & @whositmcwhatsit on the joys of mirrors and chairs (please I still need all of these). More elvis karate fic in the world is needed.
warnings: 18+ ...karate, being taught karate, elvis doing karate, all the karate, elvis pulls a gun (in play), p in v sex - it gets cute and sappy by the end.
pairing/summary: 1974 elvis x female oc -- Olivia's been invited to Graceland for the week and Elvis takes the opportunity to teach her some moves.
wc: 9.3k
Summer/Fall 1974 Graceland
“S’alright honey, you’ll jus’ take off your shoes anyway, so c’mon.”
Olivia looked up from where she had paused in the hallway, her long, ash blonde swaying in time to the impatient snaps of Elvis’ fingers. She stopped unbuckling the clasp on her purple platform shoes, glancing up with her light blue eyes to where Elvis stood in his gi. His shoulders were so taut that it made his uniform’s red collar stick straight up, broad and athletic.
Pulling on his collar, she ran a finger over his warm neck as she tried to summon the allure to distract him away from what would be the fourth, the fourth, karate class this week. She hesitated when she thought she saw Elvis’ eyes flicker with a teasing glint as she ran her hand through her hair, but she still tried, making her voice breathy and girlish.
“Why don’t we take a break from the lessons and you can just show me some moves alone. Upstairs.”
Elvis smirked and shook his head. “Nah uh, now, this is important. Billy’s already down at the gate gathering up the other gals, so we gotta hop to it. They have clean robes there, baby.”
With a loud slap to her butt, Elvis grinned and the discussion was over as she followed him out of the house and towards the carport.
Olivia leaned back in her seat as they drove to the karate studio, thinking of the last time she had been to Memphis. That week had been a dreamy unreal blur of swimming, BBQ, late night jam sessions and pranks at Graceland. When Joe had called last week and asked if he could fly her up to Memphis, Olivia had squealed and immediately packed her travel bag for another romantic week at Graceland.
Man oh man, had she been wrong. The very first day had dashed her expectations to bits when Elvis had taken an hour away from her to have a screaming match over the phone, with whom was not mentioned, and Olivia didn’t dare ask, although she suspected Linda Thompson. Then came the news about the attacks downtown. Elvis had heard the call over his police scanner about another rape downtown, the fifteenth this month in a series of assaults on young women in Memphis, all believed to be perpetrated by the same blonde guy in a ski mask. He became obsessed with “solving the case” - his police badge permanently hanging around his neck like a real detective, and he spent an extremely long time planning how he could lead an elite group of his mafia in tracking that “sonofabitch down and showing him what happens to rapists in ma home town,” until Sonny had talked him down, or rather, redirected him to teaching girls self defense. Thus, Elvis was now convinced that Olivia, and any other female in a five mile radius, needed to learn how to protect themselves. And he knew just which karate master had been put on this earth to teach them. And so she spent every afternoon at the dojo.
The dojo wasn’t all bad. Elvis was cute in his uniform, and when he grunted doing moves, oh brother. But she felt uncomfortably awkward when he called her up to practice in front of everyone, all eyes on her. And, perhaps even worse was his insistence on going around the room; making her watch him with all the other girls they rounded up at the gate to come learn self defense.
Olivia felt as though she were in the crush of fans going to a concert as they walked upstairs to the karate studio. Elvis turned at the top of the stairs, swinging his arms, a big, boyish smile cresting his cheeks when he looked down at the eager karate students below him as if he were leading them to the promised land, instead of a large, wood paneled dojo that smelled like sweaty boys.
Feeling shy and very out of her element. Olivia slowly meandered through the dressing room tying the white band at her waist, and then immediately slinked to the back of the classroom to hideout while she watched the lesson.
Elvis introduced himself, an earnest, serious expression on his face as he spoke to the class, arms rising and expanding on either side as he spoke about the dojo, pausing for dramatic effort between sentences.
“Here, in the confines a this room, I’m not Elvis Presley, I’m not an entertainer, I’m just a simple karate master. Mister Tiger. That’s the name I was given, s’meaningful, cuz the tiger, in Japan, where he is called the kanji, he is a symbol of brav’ry, of strength, and the tiger there protects people from evil. And that’s what I do, and that’s what we’re doing here today, ladies. Me, and these other karate masters here, we are gonna protect you by teaching you how to protect yourself.”
Mister Tiger then led them in a long, rambling guided meditation replete with even more tangential bible verses than yesterday. Today, apparently, was an auspicious day to learn self defense. It was also an auspicious day to do karate in white go go boots. There were others amongst the cadre of masters at the front of the room who wore colored robes: black, blue,or the patriotic print of the American flag. But none of them looked like Elvis, with his eye make up, resplendent flared out pants with bows and shiny, red satin lining. He could easily have been on stage in Vegas, and, yet, he seemed completely at home at the front of the room explaining how to gouge out a man’s eyes, and beckoning Red up for a demo.
The lessons had a formula to them. Elvis would start by beckoning David and Red up to play the role of alternating assailants while he played the role of the lady, pretending to cry out in despair before turning with a growl and vehemently demonstrating a technique to grab, strike and flip over a male attacker. He was utterly captivating as he grew progressively sweatier in his gi, smiling with glee each time he threw Red or David to the floor, or when the blush spread across his cheeks when Master Rhee praised him.
Then came the mechanics, as Elvis concocted more elaborate and involved scenarios in which an assailant would come at you with a gun down an alley, or catch you on the stairs at a car park. This was followed by longer and longer demonstrations as Mister Tiger showed the audience every possible strike to disarm and take down Red, step-by-step. The throat, groin and knee were the money shots, Elvis explained, then showed them how to hit Red in each spot, grunting with a scowl as he jabbed his friend in the nuts. By the time that part of the lesson concluded itself with Red insistently tapping out Elvis was shining with a layer of perspiration, strands of hair stuck to his forehead as he leaned into his thighs. In action, he commanded Olivia’s full attention. But then during his lectures, Elvis would get intensely serious, his explanations became more drawn out, and it became harder and harder to stay focused.
Staring out of the window, Olivia lost herself in a daydream of her and Elvis driving away in the convertible she could see parked just below. Alone. She was, however, suddenly roused from these delightful thoughts by the sound of clapping, the women applauding as Elvis announced his demonstrations were over. She turned to find a line of women snaking around the mats waiting to start practicing some of the moves with Red, Dick and Bill, while Elvis paced between them, correcting the girls' stances and flirting with them in hushed tones as they giggled.
Olivia stood too, trying to blend into the background as she walked along the back of the room, gliding her hand over the stack of mats. She turned to see Elvis with his hand on another girl’s back and she sighed, reminding herself that it was all part of the lesson, all part of who Elvis was, it didn’t mean anything. She shifted back on top of the mats, catching him staring at her, and her legs froze mid swing, his eyes narrowed and his hand still on the other woman. If he thought she was going to get in line like any other random stranger and humiliate herself trying to flip over Red, he had another thing coming. She wasn’t doing it again.
Nope, no sirreee. Sports were not her thing, she had almost fainted yesterday when he called her up to model a strike to David’s chest. Yes, the attacks downtown were awful, but the truth was that she still wasn’t comfortable attacking anyone, or even pretending to, and nor did she have any intention of going alone into the alleys of downtown Memphis any time soon. George had introduced them, what, two months ago? And in the intervening time, Joe had now called her three times, inviting her to come up to Memphis to spend a week with Elvis while he was home from touring. In all her visits, Olivia had learnt that the only place she was ever really alone in Graceland were the bathrooms. She smiled feebly at Elvis’ pursed lips, and settled back on the stack of mats to wait.
It was another hour before Elvis felt satisfied that every woman in the room had gotten the opportunity to scream at one of the guys and flip him over onto the mat. With Elvis’ tutelage, they also got to strike David or Red in the throat, heart and nutsack. At least once; though Elvis had encouraged them to take advantage of the opportunity and have as many goes at the boys as they desired. One short, slender woman had attacked both guys in the nuts with each of her limbs twice, shouting a loud “hiya!” every time. A girl sitting next to Olivia explained, “Oh that’s just Sapphire, she’s a elementary school teacher. SO, you know.”
Exhausted and grumpy, the guys began shepherding the group out and Olivia jumped off the mats to join them, stopping and furrowing her brow as she watched Elvis whisper with Billy and then thank Master Kang Rhee, looking over at her as they spoke. They were suddenly alone in the studio, and Olivia began to walk backwards into the tower of mats as Elvis advanced towards her.
“So, don you need to learn any a this, huh?”
Olivia bit her lip, and awkwardly rubbed her hands together as she tried to figure out how to get around him and maneuver them back to Graceland where they could maybe go for a swim and cuddle in bed and things could be sweet and fun and romantic like they had been on her last trip to Memphis.
“It’s not that, I just - I was never good at sports. It’s embarrassing, Elvis - “
“You know, this ain’t Oxford, Mississippi, lil girl.” He narrowed his eyes at Olivia and pursed his lips, his boots landing with a thud as he slowly sauntered over with his hands on his hips. Or rather, right below, thumbs in the red satin belt of his gi.
Olivia sucked in her breath, mumbling, “I know, but I just -”
“Memphis might be the big city for you now, and you feel safe here ‘cause you’re with me. I get that, baby. But what if you get a modeling gig up in New York City? Hmmm? I ain’t always gonna be ‘round.” He shook his head, tutting at her in admonishment.
He quirked his eyebrow at her. “C’mon, walk that fine little bottom over here, Lolly. Ain’t gonna have you leave without learning some moves.” It was not a question, but a command.
Olivia pushed herself off the mats, slowly making her way over to Elvis despite a sense of foreboding. She immediately felt him crowd behind her, the warmth of his chest and stomach, warm and sweaty from the lessons, now pressed against her back as he clutched her close. He positioned them both to face the mirror set into the paneling of the wall of the room,
“Right then honey, just like this, you gotta plant your feet like this. ” She nodded, although she was immediately distracted from watching where he placed his legs by the feeling of his hands gathering up her long hair into a ponytail in his palm and brushing it over one shoulder. She sucked in a shiver.
“Pay attention now, this is important - you see?” He spread his legs - demonstrating behind her and nudging her with his boot to spread her feet further apart. Paying attention was almost impossible when he leaned in to rest his chin against her neck before he pointed at the mirror. The room was silent except for the sound of their breath as Elvis corrected her stance.
“Nah, honey, see.” His hands were at her waist, roughly trying to angle her towards her front knee.
Olivia couldn’t decide if she should try harder or let him keep correcting her so she could enjoy the delicious feeling of his warm, sweaty hands moving over her body to work her into position. A herd of horses galloping over her chest, pulsing up through her ears from the strange mix of self-consciousness and arousal every time his fingers gently clenched around her.
Something about performing karate made her self-conscious, it was the total opposite of how she felt modeling, which she had been doing since her mama started her in pageants as a little girl. This, this was unknown. The mirrors and strangers in the room had felt almost overwhelming and she’d yet to really try; feeling like everyone’s eyes had been on her from the moment Elvis held her arm while she climbed out of the car. Alone though, now, with his arms at her side, Olivia began to think she might be able to give it a go, and moved her feet apart.
He tutted, “No, no, no, Lolly baby!” He shook his head and moved away from her shoulder to stand upright, gripping her waist and inserting his leg between hers. There was an insistent press from his knee to her thigh until she begrudgingly spread them further. “Just a little bit farther apart…” He huffed as he shimmied her legs open, murmuring against her hair, “for balance.”
Olivia tried to reply, but her words caught in her throat, and she was unable to respond as she stared at his leg between hers in the mirror. She could feel his fingertips dig into her waist even through the heavy white cotton of her jacket.
“Now, honey, you should know this,” He breathed a laugh almost too close to her ear. “You gotta loosen up too, baby, let me position you.” He paused to move away and look her over, assessing her position. “This ain’t a tournament, we’re just playin’ aren’t we?”
“Yeah, we’re just playing.” She repeated back to him a little dumbly. He nodded and stepped back to anchor her body with his. He was still earnestly focused on instructing her, nudging her thighs with his leg again, forcing her to spread her legs wider before running his hands down to her hips, and maneuvering her to twist to the side. His warm breath was on the back of her neck just for a moment. She can feel herself tremble a little, shoulders twitching and she’s surprised he doesn’t seem to have felt it, shuddering when he presses his lips to her hair for the briefest of seconds. She stumbled back a little, losing her balance enough that she was forced to rest against him as she followed his body. Elvis was oblivious to the effect he was having on her and remained intent on getting her form right, sliding one hand down to her leg, spreading his own to allow him to reach further down, and pushing her forward - bending her knee himself while gripping onto her other thigh. Putting her with her front leg bent and low, and her back leg straight, long thick fingers tight on her thigh.
“This is called zenkutsu dachi,” He pats her bent thigh, “this leg gives you a bit more power to your punches.” Olivia peers down at where his hand remains resting on her leg, and he uses his other to bring her chin to face directly in front of her. He takes a step back to look over her form, “Hmm, good.”
Elvis moves around, circling her, before coming to a stop in front of her, and pulling at her hands where they’d rested by her sides, to form a fist. She instinctively tucks her thumb in and he rolls his eyes at her, tutting,
“You haven’t been paying any kind of attention have you?” pulling her thumb back out. “Guess I’ll just have to start from scratch.” He stretches his own arm out front of himself, holding his hand flat vertically and demonstrating how he curls his fingers before twisting the fist horizontally.
“Elvis -”
“Na uh, baby, Mister Tiger.”
Olivia rolled her eyes at his smirk.
“Oh, right. Mister Tiger. Aren’t you tired? Should we maybe head out?”
His eyes moved over her, his hands were back at his hips. “Sho honey, soon as you throw me. You get through an attack and throw me to the mat, then lickety split, we’re on our way home.”
Olivia giggled. “Elvis, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”
His hand was back on her shoulder, rubbing it. “Sure you can, baby, cuz Imma teach ya. Right here. Now, come on. Let’s try that fist.”
She nods and watches him again, repeating the action with her own hand.
“So, you punch from here,” he slides his hands around her middle, “right round by this itty bitty waist of yours.” Then grips her newly formed fists and tugs them into the proper position.
“Your hands rest here - you gotta return ‘em here whenever you finish with the move… Well, at least, as a beginner - and then from here you can step forward into an oi-zuki - that’s a punch like this.” Elvis’ brow furrowed in concentration, before he demonstrated with a shout. Olivia jumped a little, not expecting it, and he flashed her a grin. “The shout - that’s called a kiai.” He stands back up, strutting in front of her with his arms crossed, a fierce, boyish pride on his face.
“Now you give it a go.” She was a little nervous but still, she complied, performing for him and even remembering to return her fists back to the same position after.
“No. You gotta do it with the kiai. Do it again.”
“Slave-driver.” She was kidding, smiling as she said it, but his facial expression dropped.
“It takes time, Lolly, to get it right. You wanna half ass everything? Cuz I sure as hell don’t. This is real karate, only kind I know how. But if you ain’t even gonna try, I’m ain’t gonna bother trying to teach you. ‘S fine.” He looked to the side, pouting. He sighed loudly, “I jus, just worry about you, wanted you to know how to defend yourself…”
“No - No, sorry - Elvis, sorry. You’re right. I do wanna learn… just-” She got back into position. “Show me how it goes again.” He huffed, but then moved into the position to show her again, perking up as he began to take her through it a second time.
“Now your turn.” Olivia mimicked the move, feeling ridiculous as she copied Elvis’ shout this time.
“See, There’s my good lil’ Lolly Ollie. If you lead with the other arm now, that's a gyaku zuki.” She does as he says and he nods, grinning at her efforts.
“Good girl.” Her tummy flips, as it still does every time he gives her praise she quickly tries to collect herself when he waves a hand as if to make her do it again, and she does, but she pauses after bringing her fists back to her waist.
“Not that I’m not enjoying the lesson El - I mean Mister Tiger, but can we get to the throwing part? I…weren’t you gonna show me how to defend myself?” He huffs again.
“Well, yeah. But I gotta teach you the basics first.” His voice takes on an expository tone as he rests his hands on his hips, “It takes a who-ole lot of practice to get this good.” Olivia smiles back at him,
“And, you are very good at it too.” Despite her best efforts he won’t be deterred, simply agreeing with her.
“Exactly, so listen up.”
“Perhaps you should just…let me watch?” Elvis looks her over for a moment, blue eyes narrowing, and she’s taken aback when, after a moment, he nods in agreement.
“Well, I suppose a li’l demonstration might help… yeah, yeah you know what - actually, since you’ve not been paying attention in class, it’ll be useful.” He gives her a stern look, “I’ll have to do my best without a partner, but it’d probably do you good to watch me for a little while.”
His eyes barely leave himself in the mirror, only occasionally sneaking a glance to see her reaction after he does what he deems to be a more impressive move. It was mesmerizing to watch him reflected around her, alone, moving his body in quick, fluid strokes, all around her. His grunts echoing through the empty studio. His powerful mix of raw passion and discipline remind her of his stage presence, those moments he seemed to go inward and close his eyes and let the energy of the music take over and move his entire body in an electric fit of kicks and thrusts. His voice brings her back to the here and now, alone, on the mat in the dojo, he doesn’t notice the awe and desire in her eyes at first, but then he pauses as he speaks, quirking his head at her and blushing slightly in recognition at her attentive, wide-eyed stare.
“Now Lolly, don’t look at me like that, won’t be able to finish this lesson. “ He slapped her bottom, and stepped aside. “Alright, that was just some blocks, but you’ll need to know more than that if someone grabs you. So, look - c’mere,” He maneuvers her around, pulling her to slightly in front of him “and just, that’s it, stand right there.”
“Oh…kay.” She obediently goes where he tugs her.
“Right, now, try and grab me.”
“I’m not doing that - you’ll hurt me!” He smirks, shaking his head. Her voice turns even more shrill, “You were just telling me you’re an expert!”
“I won’t hurt you, lil gal, I won’t even let you touch the floor, just gotta show you where to place your arms.” He shrugs, exaggerated sad frown on his face, although his tone was unsympathetic, “If only you’d watched earlier… then you wouldn’t have to.”
“Elv-is! Seriously - I’m not sure about-“ He looks at her flatly, unamused by her protestations,
“Lolly,” He elongates the vowel making it seem like he was mimicking her, “jus shut up and grab me.”
Nervous and still not comfortable trying to hurt someone, she half-heartedly tries to grab Elvis from behind. He shakes his head, smiling a little as he starts to mime out throwing her to the floor.
“So you needta put your arm ‘round em, just like this.” He twists to grip her torso, while sliding his leg around her, “And then, you place your foot here,” She finds that the move tucks her legs between his thighs and she can already sense how he’s about to drop her just from the pressure of the angle, “and then, you push ‘em off balance, with your other hand.” He puts his palm to her other shoulder, pushing a little. “Then you use that momentum to push them to the floor.” He shoves a little harder, before grasping the lapels of her jacket and pulling her back upright. Situating her between his legs again. “Told you I wouldn’t drop you.”
Olivia finds herself slightly disoriented with the sudden movement, and the squeeze of his thighs against hers, he’s so close he’s blocking her view of everything but his body. Her entire world is enveloped by Elvis in his karate gi. He blows off a puff of hair, tickling the top of Olivia’s head, and she shivers against him, immediately missing his heat when he steps back.
“Now you try on me.” He grins, “You can put me on the floor if you like.”
Olivia tries, she really does, but it’s an awkward angle and she can’t quite seem to wrap her hand far enough around to get a good enough grip to make him fall off-balance. He huffs when she struggles to make him move even an inch,
“C’mon, Lolly, harder - you can do it.” She tries again and Elvis laughs, “You are trying to throw me aren't you?”
She huffs, teasing back, “Of course!”
Elvis shoots her a grin, waggling his eyebrows in a challenge.
“Well - actually do it then.”
She rolls her eyes, but attempts the move, and it only takes a couple more tries before she manages to hook her leg in just the right way to push him over. He smiles proudly at her from his prone position. “That’s it! Good girl!” He launches himself back up, brushing himself off, “See - I knew you could do it!” Olivia nods smiling back at him,
“It wasn’t that hard really…”
He lifts an eyebrow, pulling her towards him, fingers curled into the belt of her jacket.
“So, that’s how to get them to the floor - but what if you have to fight? Kicking is more effective than punching for defense. So now watch.” He shakes her a little when she doesn’t immediately respond, furrow forming in his brow. “Lolly.’ His voice is serious, earnest, “This is important.” She nods,
“Sorry! I’m listening. I am. Show me,” He’s still frowning, “Please?” He doesn’t respond but moves to the side of her to demonstrate,
“For the first, you bring up this leg.” He waits for her to follow, lifting her knee up to a 90 degree angle. “This is called chambering, so you gotta bring up your knee to ‘chamber’ the kick - for, uh, control.” She nods, “And then, you can, uh, flick it up, like this.”
She tries to do as he does but he immediately comes around to hold her hips.
“No. Not like that. You’ve gotta push through with it, with power - not all… loose and floppy, like that.” He shakes his hands around her hips, mimicking the words as he says them. “Do it again.” She tries again, “Hmm, better.” She brings her foot back down, but he catches her ankle before she can, causing her to stumble a little.
“Elvis.” She stands upright again, crossing her arms across her chest. “What’s the point of this?” He pouts, mirroring her pose, rubbing his hand down his arm.
“Honey, your assailant ain’t gonna just stand there and let you flip him. You gotta learn how to really kick that motha out when comes atchya. But If you wanna be attacked by drugged out commies, raped and murdered - boom, bang - BAM, fine, go ahead!”
He starts to stalk away from her, although she grabs his arm before he can get too far, and though he looks down at her hand with distaste he doesn’t immediately shrug her off.
“No - no, Elvis, I do. I want to learn, please - pleaase?” He huffs, but nonetheless turns back around and walks back over to the middle of the mat gesturing for her to come back beside him. Olivia tries again but she’s immediately met with a huff.
“No - you’re still not listenin’ to me, and you’re still not paying attention to your goddamn hands. Now you’re using them too much - they’re meant to help you balance, not drive the whole kick.” He’s taken on a particularly patronizing didactic tone, and it does little to make her less irritated. She tries again and he rolls his eyes,
“... Now, look - let’s try something else.” He looks around for a moment, before his hands come up to fiddle with his black and red belt tied around his waist. He looks up at her, calculatingly, somehow she knows what he’s about to suggest, and she holds up her arms as if to ward him off,
“Oh no, no. Elvis, that won’t help - don’t you even think about it!” He smirks back at her, eyebrow lifting to almost touch his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead.
“Yes Elvis.” He repeats back at her as he unties the belt, curling it around his hand as he does. She lets out a squeak as he looks over at her, his jacket already starting to fall open of its own accord. She shakes her head while he nods, his face becomes tender.
“Aw, now Lolls, trust me, sweetheart, this will help you focus. Master Rhee tied mine to help me learn how to focus on my legs. I won’t hurt you, promise.”
This time, when he reaches out to grab her arms she doesn’t protest letting him grasp her hands. He unrolls his red satin belt and slowly loops it over her wrists, tying it with a satisfied nod.
“Now. Try again.”
She does as he says, but wobbles not being able to steady herself with her hands.
“Still not quite. Look, just sit there an’ watch me.”
It’s hard to focus with his jacket now flying open as he demonstrates a seemingly long-winded Kata. Her attention drifted to his tan stomach, the trail of dark hair peeking out from between the white cotton on the gentle swell of his tummy, his skin almost glowing with the light layer of drying sweat that covered him. He suddenly pauses, eyes dark as he looks directly at her “Are you payin’ attention?” She nods frantically,
“Of course! Of course I am!”
“Gonna ask you to prove it in a sec. Now watch.”
He does it again, and she squirms against the smooth glass of the mirror, unable to stop her thighs clenching. Finally, he finishes, striding over to her, undoing her hands to wrap the belt back around his waist. Her stomach flips at his closeness, the touch of his fingers grazing over hers as he helps her up
He smacks her butt again, with a chuckle.
“Alright, Lolly, show me whatcha got.”
Then Elvis sits down on a chair, getting himself comfortable with his thighs spread and his legs out.
She closes her eyes in an attempt to center herself back to the task at hand again. Only to jump, hard, when the next thing she knows Elvis’ arms are wrapped around her and there’s the cold metal of the tiny pistol he’d been showing off earlier in the class being pressed against her body.
“What the hell, Elvis!”
“How’d you get out of this now?” She struggles against him, trying to wrench herself out of his hold, “C’mon,” He’s growling into her ear, low and rumbly “C’mon, Oh-liv-ia, now, how would’ya get yourself free?”
“Elvis - this isn’t funny, get offa me!”
“Elvis!” He repeats back, affecting a shrill, mocking tone. “Get offa me!” He teases, and it riles her up, as he intended, but now her movements are focused.
“Now. See this is why we havta practice, cuz women go emoti’nal when a bad guy grabs ‘em, just natural, that’s why we gotta run it again ‘til you know you can get it.”
Somehow in the haze of her frustration she manages to shove him back, and gets her knee into the right position to be able to sweep his leg out, using the force of his grip around her to topple him off balance - although she goes straight down with him, falling on top of him with a startled yelp, and a grunt from him on impact.
“See. I told you you could do it Lolly girl!” He chuckles, breath tickling her ear,
He rolls her over, notching his knees on either side of her waist, his hands almost instinctively pinning hers above her head. She can feel the heat of his belly pushing into her, and she rocks ever-so-slightly against him. He blows away the strands of hair that have fallen out on her face, his hands still holding her secure against him.
“If I really tried you wouldn’t be able to get away.” She squirms a little, not really trying that hard to get out of his grip.
“I don’t wanna get away.”
The smirk on his face turned to a sweet, boyish smile. “Hmmm, that right?”
Olivia moved her forefingers inward to tickle his palms.
“Uh huh, got you right where I want you, mister tiger.”
Elvis leaned forward, loosening the tight grip he had on her wrists to palm over her hands, pressing them into the mat. His breath was warm on her neck as he spoke.
“Grrrrrrr”
They both start to laugh at his silly growls, but then, all of a sudden, the laughing stopped, replaced by an intense, lingering stare. Elvis trailing his thumb down her jaw, and she could feel a twitch between his legs, where he pressed into her. A hunger grew in his eyes as he thrust forward slightly.
“Time to go.”
He jumped back like a rubber band snapping into place, and held out his hand to pull her up. Startled, and not a little disorientated Olivia smoothed down her top.
“Ok, I’ll just go change -”
“Nah, leave it on.”
He kept a tight hold of her wrist, not letting her stray as he bends with a slight grunt, tugging his white boots back on with a stomp of each foot. Elvis pulled her closer, his arms enclosing her, and turning her around as they looked into the mirror. Olivia could feel him prodding into the small of her back, as he tightened his grip around her. Just the warmth of his skin grazing the curve of her breasts made her nipples tingle and harden. He seemed to feel the longing rising up from her core as he leaned closer, resting his chin into her neck as he looked at their reflection, his fingers grazing over her bosom as he drew his hand across her body.
“I like the way it looks on you, baby.”
Olivia pushed off of him, and turned, walking backwards towards the door.
“Yeah, I bet you got a good view looking up at me from the floor when I threw you, Mister Tiger!” she giggled, waggling her eyebrows playfully as Elvis shook his head and followed her.
“Ha, only reason you threw me is cuz I wanted you to throw me, honey. Trust that. Looks like you forgot the most important lesson in karate.”
There was a playful bravado in his eyes as he quickened his stride, the sound of his white boots squished over the vinyl mats. Olivia let out a nervous laughter and turned to look over her shoulder as she stumbled back, turning just in time to see him grab her and throw her over his shoulder.
“Respect your sensei.”
The stairway echoed with the sound of Elvis’ hand slapping her butt and Olivia’s shrieks and giggles as he carried her towards the car. He seemed unphased by Red’s impatient glare as he and David leaned against the Stutz, smoking. Elvis’ eyes were focused on Olivia, and he looked over at her in silence as they drove back to Graceland, a goofy, boyish grin on his face as she leaned into his shoulder. He shook his head as she slyly swiped her hand over his thigh, feathering just above his groin.
Once they were back at the house, Olivia hurried out of the car as he grunted his thanks to the boys. She was almost down the hallway behind the kitchen when he caught up with her, pinching her at her waist to walk behind her.
“Hmmmm, this kinda behavior fly with your teachers back in Oxford?”
A warmth spreads through her chest at the way his arms embraced her, and Olivia turned, wrapping her hands around his neck, almost overwhelmed by the tenderness she feels towards Elvis, whispering into his neck.
“Ugh, all my professors are old fuddy duddies, where’s the fun in teasing them.”
She looks up, meeting Elvis eyes and swallowing at the intense desire bubbling up her throat. Recognition spread through his body, and his bottom lip dropped open as he scooped her up and carried her up the narrow back staircase behind the den.
“Good baby, that’s good. Can’t bear the idea of you even talkin’ to another man.”
Elvis settles his hands at her bottom, fingertips gripping hard into the tops of her thighs as he hoisted her a little higher on him, dropping her down upstairs as he leads her through the walk-in closet and bathroom. The backway to his room.
All of a sudden, Elvis seems to become shy, rubbing his hands as he looks down at her feet. Olivia knows this mating ritual well, Elvis’s shift from confident bossman in front of the guys to fumbling, unsure boy. Olivia runs her fingers up his gi, trailing over the shiny, red satin of his uniform’s trim, to pull on his belt, though not too much, anxious to let him take the lead.
“S’not fair, your uniform is so much nicer than mine.” She pouts.
Elvis’ voice becomes a low, breathy whisper. “Aw, now, Lolly, if you really think you wanna learn more now, I can get you a gi just like mine, baby.”
He nuzzles her neck as he speaks, and Olivia leans into his nose.
“I do wanna learn more, E, I think.” She runs her hands up his side with longing. “I think I’m starting to like karate.”
Elvis arched his eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Well, I do have a pretty hot teacher.” She giggled. “He showed me some pretty slick moves today.” She bites her lip, drawing him backwards to the bed.
“Hmm, that right?”
Olivia cocks her eyebrow up, and before Elvis realizes it, she turns inward, hitches her foot behind his heel, and tries to grip him and toss him on the bed. He wobbles, but deflects and they tumble backwards together.
“See, honey, I told you I let you throw me before -” She pouts, she wasn’t entirely unsuccessful - he’s still ended up exactly where she wanted him to be. “Aw - no, don’t look at me like that Lolly, baby - you just, you just need some more practice that’s all.” He pats at her cheek, encouraging her to look at him, “just a few more lessons, then I’m sure you’ll be able to get me good.” Olivia nods, lips softening out of their pout at his earnest expression, thumb rubbing the corner of her mouth.
Her eyes try to track his fingers, and it’s as if he suddenly becomes aware of the charged atmosphere again. His lips quirk as he trails his hand down her side, causing her to tremble against him. She turns, rolling even closer, and he twists himself to lean over her a little, thumb idly stroking her soft, pebbling, skin. It made her chest tighten with longing, and she lifted her hips to thrust into him. His hand trails down to her hip, his fingers continuing to caress the soft skin under her thick cotton of her uniform..
His fingers went to the drawstring of her pants, stumbling in his haste and desire to get the cord undone. She chuckles a little as he accidentally tightens the knot, swearing under his breath, before he manages to finally pull the cords free, the elasticated waistband now loose enough for him to comfortably slip his hand under. He draws it out, and Lolly is left to gasp and struggle to hold somewhat still as his fingers toy with her, gently sweeping across her belly button brushing lower into her soft curls and back - taking it as slowly as he can. The thought pops into her head that it feels strange to be touched without feeling the skin-warmed metal or the delicate claws of a setting of one of his rings pressing against her skin - just his bare hands for once. It feels more charged in some way, raw. He grins at her when she issues a soft whine, and he stills her hand from pulling on his trousers.
“Mmmhmmm, now, good things come to good lil girls who wait.”
“Oh god, El-vis. Please, touch me.” He chuckles, breathy and low.
“Patience Lolly darling, waited all afternoon for you like this - just let me enjoy you, hm?” Her legs parted further almost entirely by themselves, and Olivia bit her lip at Elvis’ cocky, boyish smirk at her response.
“Gonna be a good girl?”
“Mmmmhmmm.”
She lay back, ceding him all control as her hands fell back over her head. His fingers pull on the white belt, releasing her top, revealing her pale, silky milk white breasts. She trembles at the sound of him sucking in air, grazing his knuckles over her belly to the bottom curve of her breast. Elvis pursed his lips and gently tugged at her left nipple, the subtle mix of pleasure and pain made her gasp, and she felt him twitch at his groin.
“Mmm, there she is, there’s my good baby.”
He leaned down to softly mouth over her other nipple, and the cool, wet feeling provoked another moan. All of her blood rushed to her core and her neck arched back. She hardly noticed how Elvis surreptitiously began to pull her pants off, the elasticated waistband of the gi slipping down easily, leaving her in little cotton panties.
He doesn’t stop giving her nipple attention with his mouth, his hand still gently playing with the other, and Olivia can feel her pulse quickening, that slightly nauseating feeling that comes with being so rapidly turned on transforming into fluttering butterflies in her stomach as he shifts his lips to suck a love-bite on the velvety flesh of her breast. She meets his eyes, Elvis' gaze deepening as he pulls himself away to plant a soft, lazy kiss on her lips. It felt like she had needed him to kiss her all afternoon, and she couldn’t help herself. Once his mouth met hers, she greedily held him to her, pulling on his silk collar, just for a moment.
She giggled up into his mouth, feeling the distinct outline of an erection through his gi. She flipped her head back, looking at their reflection in the curved mirrors that lined the walls across from the bed.
Elvis’ was hunched over her, like a tiger over his prey. A tiger who was suddenly very tame, nipping at her neck. Tugging at his belt, she lets out a choked moan in surprise that he is totally nude underneath.
“Oh god, Elvisss - I.”
Elvis has to look away at her gasp, and the hungry way she palms over his cock. Olivia finds her desire swell every time she is with him like this and gets to witness up close how shy he is in bed. She can feel him stiffen as he grins, and he cannot seem to stop the teasing way his eyebrow arches up in recognition of how his naked body, his jacket falling off of his shoulders, alone is enough to make her moan in pleasure.
“Something you tryin’ to tell me, honey?” The laughter in his eyes tells her that he knows exactly what he’s doing to her - lowering his tone, quieting his voice until it's practically a deep, masculine, whisper. His hand trails down to run a single finger across the waistband of her panties, Olivia’s hips jolt as he toys with her - slipping further until he’s pressing the damp spot on her fabric. Her moan is stifled by his mouth, his tongue slipping into hers, and she is once again enveloped by him. The smell of the sweaty dojo that lingers along with his crisp aftershave, the warmth of his nose along her jaw, the sight of his chest hair above her. It takes every bit of focus that she has to move her hand over him again, touching him so that he can feel her desire.
But Elvis won’t be rushed, he takes his time, brushing over her clit through her underwear before finally tugging at the waist. She can tell from the way he waggles his eyebrows that he is enjoying this. Olivia should slap him for being so cheeky, but her arousal makes her lift her hips almost too eagerly as a giddy exhale escapes her throat.
The cool, arctic air of Elvis’ bedroom is titillating on her bare skin, and she bucks up into his cupped hand, grinding into him and he lets out a sharp breath, almost a whistle at the way she slides against him,
“Lordy, lordy lordy, like a caged alley cat, suddenly let out of its cage. Whatcha do with my good lil sorority gal, hmmm?”
“Uh-huh,” She wriggles, “Couldn’t - can’t help it, you, ah,” He slips his finger between the lips of her vulva, “something bout you, bout karate, makes me - ” she grinds into him again, another breathy giggle comes out when she meets his eye. “craazzzy.”
“Huh, and here I thought you were bored, guess you were just playin’ it cool, huh?” He nudges her clit with his knuckle, “you like watchin’ me, lil girl?”
She whines as he pulls himself away, tugging his jacket fully off, he hushes her, grinning, and leaning down to suck on her collarbone, just a teeny bit too high for her to cover. Olivia knows it will leave a hickey, and she’ll get a lecture from her house mother on lady-like behavior befitting a Chi Omega. But she doesn’t care, the way his lips are pressing into her and suckling, as his finger glides over her, around her, inside her, beckoning her to him like he beckoned his competitors to challenge him earlier. The full length of his soft, tapered fingers now slide back and forth along her clit and she rocks with them over the black satin sheets, chasing the electricity at their tips. She looks up into his eyes.
“Mhmmm. Watching you. But I liked it best - ” He plays it straight like he doesn’t know why she’s stopped talking, tilting his head at the way she cries out and gasps when his fingers rub around her and she can’t stop the groan they summon.
“Yesssss honey, you ok? What is that you like?”
Olivia shakes her head, her hips follow the measured, slow, movements of his hand inside her. Looking into his playful eyes, she can feel him fully hard against her stomach, and she can’t bear it much longer. In her past few times at Graceland she’d gotten used to the fact that he was nothing like the college boys she’d fooled around with in the past. Elvis was not a wham, bam, thank you ma’am lover. For him, the foreplay almost seemed as important, if not more so, and he seemed to enjoy pushing her. Right to the edge.
“I liked it when you worked one-on-one with me. I liked feeling you teach me.” She whispered, heart beating fast as she felt Elvis’ fingers still, while his left came up to cup her cheeks.
“Awww, baby, you like it when I teach you things? Honey -” Elvis' voice dipped low into a sweet murmur as he leaned forward into her ear, and Olivia nodded, his hand guiding his penis to her entrance. “I’m jus getting started. Got all kinda moves I wanna show you.”
He chuckled, bending into her neck as he laughed at his own corny lines. However, his momentary chuckle was swiftly replaced by a low growl as he thrust up inside her, and Olivia became incapable of replying. Snaking her arms over his shoulders, she tilted her hips to meet him, her heart pounding as he moved back deliberately, his mouth a terse, concentrated line, before they delved down to kiss her neck.
“You ok, honey?”
Olivia nodded her head, winding her hair through his fingers, the hot breath from his nostrils moistened her skin as he delved up into her once more, and she pushed back to let him know that she could take it, that she wanted it, that she liked it.
“Uh uh, more than ok.” She whispered into his ear. “Been thinking about this all afternoon.”
Elvis hand swiped down to trail along the side of her rib cage, tenderly, enjoying the delicate feel of her soft skin, and then gripping her tighter as he plunged back into her, deeper, and more determined, encouraged by the succession of moans Olivia uttered in time with his hips. As if he were pounding them out of her in time with his own heavy panting gasps.
She could no longer think, every move brought Olivia into the present and everything left her head until suddenly all she knows is the flare of Elvis’ nostrils over her, the silk of the sheets below her, and the reflection from the television sets in the ceiling above her that she calls out, babbling a succession of “oh - gods” out as Elvis’ increases his pressure, and the way he smiles at her praise and grins, leaves her breathless. His hips stutter a little, and his mouth hanging open, and she is consumed by the need to drink him in, and leans up to close the gap between them, capturing his mouth with hers and pulling him close with her arms entwined around his neck. Their movements become more erratic, desperate, unable to be close enough, completely absorbed in the moment, so much so that as they roll over once, then again, Olivia accidently hits her nose into Elvis' elbow.
He slows down, “You ok, baby?’
And she shakes her head, an urgency to her voice, “Mhmmm, don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop.” Her hands cup his face, and he chuckles, rocking back into her, then moaning out as she grinds against him.
He nibbles at her cheek, mouthing at her sweat-slicked skin as his hands glide up her sides - his palm and fingers spread out wide and flat on her back, holding Olivia to him. She throws her head back, inviting him to her neck and chest and he complies, leaving little wet marks as he presses open-mouthed kisses down her collarbone to the top of her breast. She can feel the sweat from his forehead as he works his way down, one of his hands sliding over to tweak a nipple. It sends an immediate zing to her core, and she pushes her hips harder into him as her orgasm washes out through her body.
“El, Elvis, oh mercy me, oh good lord - “
He smiles, a cocky, self-satisfied grin, which is short lived, replaced by the contortions of his own climax, and his kisses to her neck become a chain of fervent, wet, sloppy lips, as he murmurs into her skin.
“Oh Lo-Lolly, my lil Lolly, bout to loose ma damn mind.” His voice wavered, and his hips start to stutter, and he chants her name as he pulsates into her, his forehead slumping into her breasts as they hold each other.
Olivia looks up at the blurry reflection of his body over her in the blank television above. She blinked and let the cozy, warm afterglow of lovemaking over take her, leaning into his chest as he pants. The way his chest lifts her up and down, the way his heart is beating like a drum through his rib cage into her ear, the calm way he laughs as he grabs the nearest thing he can, the satin-lined karate uniform top, to wipe himself and throw it across the room, is all so endearing and comforting that it makes her tighten her embrace. She wishes she could just stay like this forever. She smiles into his hand, as his fingers trail down her cheek.
“You really are a beautiful girl, Lolly. Don’t know what I’d do if anythin’ ever happened to you.”
The intense, sentimental look on Elvis’ face wasn’t lost on Olivia, in part, because it was so romantic, and so very different from the closed lipped boys back at Ole Miss. She could see some of her friends being intimidated by grand gestures, but Olivia longed for this, his open, candid way of just sharing whatever emotions he was feeling had been part of the charm that induced her to drop whatever she was doing, even ditch her classes, and visit whenever Elvis called and invited her to Graceland for a week.
When he looked at her like this, so earnestly sharing his sweet confession, it made Olivia want to pull him into her and kiss him fiercely, desperately showing him how much it meant to hear him care for her this way.
“You could, you could just keep me by your side always.”
Elvis let his lips brush over hers. “Wish I could, sweetheart, keep this fine ass safe and sound.”
There it is, a reminder that she is leaving tomorrow, and his plane will be flying her back to Oxford, back to school, back to her boring, mundane life and away from these arms. The reminder that he has other girls to spend time with and other promises to keep. She pushes the thought away, and puts a smile on her face, she doesn’t want to lose this moment or let her disappointment get to her. As if reading her mind, Elvis distracts her soon enough by grabbing her waist, and working his hand down to gently cup her bottom, massaging his fingers around the bottom of her cheeks and grinning at her gasp.
“Yeah, that’s the one. Finest lil tail in all a Memphis.”
“Stop.”
The tone of her voice encouraged Elvis to squeeze her butt harder, before returning to rub her shoulder.
“S’ok baby, I’ll sleep better knowing you have some basic defense moves now to pro-tect ya self. T’weren’t half bad.”
Olivia runs her fingers through his chest hair, then sits up to look down at him.
“Half bad? Elvis Presley,” she effected a grand, dame accent. “I do de - clare, I think you forgot that I threw you, Twice.”
He shakes his head.
“Hhhh, so you think that makes you a baaadd mumbo jumbo, huh?”
She nods, giggling as he pulls her back to him.
“Uhh-huh, what was it you called the guy, the one attacking all these women?” She puts on his accent and tone, deepening her voice to imitate him, “That guy ain’t just bad, he’s double-bad.” She speaks like herself again, “Guess that’s me now. Double-bad. Can take down a karate master.” She strokes his arm, poking him with one manicured finger to emphasize the syllables. He shakes his head,
“Just you wait. I just let you so you’d get the technique down. Soon as I can walk again, we’re gonna have another lesson here. Better believe.”
Olivia fixes him with a teasing glare.
“Huh, well get ready, baby, cuz you're the one who’s gonna get a lesson.”
“That right?”
“Mhmmm. And a mouth full a humble pie.”
Her shrieks and his laughter echo through the room as they roll back and forth in a contest of wills, trying to pin each other down until they accidentally roll off the bed, and erupt into another fit of laughter with Olivia, once more, on top of Elvis.
“See, that’s the third time. Admit it, I threw you, fair and square.”
He gazes up at her, his thumbs rove her belly from her waist, where they hold her.
I have been working on a new WIP set at the Louisiana Hayride from 1954 - 1956, and will probably post chapter one in the next few days. It starts in October 1954, when 19 year-old Elvis had never played outside the small clubs of Memphis, except for that once. At the Opry. And that didn't go too well.
Now he faces his biggest audience ever at the Lousiana Hay Ride: over three thousand people in-person (a thousand more than the Opry!) and millions over the radio. He has only recorded two singles, never been away from home much or gone beyond second base with a girl, and doesn't know much about life as a touring musician. But he's eager to learn and grab every opportunity he can with those long, inexperienced slender fingers.
This fic will have my usual blend of poorly executed dry humor, fluff, smut and angst.
please comment or reblog if you want to be tagged - here is a preview.
Here is a snippet from Chapter 1: Hot Wax
Approximately 9:15 p.m.
Saturday, October 16, 1954
The Municipal Auditorium in Shreveport, Louisiana
The first time she saw Elvis up close he was hunched over the sink tapping his fingers along the porcelain rim. Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, he reminded Freddie of a bottle rocket about to blow. She smiled at the thought of him bursting through the ceiling like a comic book hero, his oversized sports coat trailing behind him like a long pink cape.
She wasn’t sure if he was recovering from his first set or talking himself into the second, but what she did know was that this kid was as green as they came. Horace had been reading Pappy the riot act yesterday when she walked by his office, yelling at him for booking “some hillbilly who just fell off the turnip truck, cuz Sam Philips brings you a bottle of Jack every time he comes through town.” The audience out there had been so taken aback by his country bop they’d forgotten to clap, and she doubted Pappy would be allowed to invite him back.
As she watched the show up in the control booth, Freddie had wondered if Elvis’ performance had gone over better with the radio listeners who hadn’t had to watch his stilted, awkward movements on stage. There was a ragged emotional tenor to his voice, and now that she was standing right in front of him she had to admit he had a dark, sultry allure that was strikingly different from all these other boys doing their best Gene Autry impression.
But geez, now the poor kid began to mutter into his reflection and she hoped he wouldn’t cry. Freddie barely knew how to deal with the girls she found balling in the bathroom.
“Um, hey there. You ok?”
Elvis jerked around and ran his hand through his sopping wet hair and straightened up, stiff like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Most folks are nervous their first time. That’s a big crowd.”
“Don’t you worry about me, honey, I ain’t nervous.” He looked her over, a sneer forming at his mouth. “Didn’t you heard the man? I’m the hottest thing on wax. Mr. Logan just asked me to play a second set.”
“Oh - uh - well, I guess I was wrong.”
“MMhmmm. Just getting geared up to go back on stage.” He settled his hands at his waist and shot her a sulky fierce glower, then waggled his eyebrows in a challenge.
“Oh, well that's good. Maybe you can answer something for me then.”
“Anything baby.”
He softened and bit his lip, giving her what she took to be his version of a come hither look. He looked like he was fighting back a sneeze and Freddie had to swallow her laughter.
“Why are you in the Ladies’ Powder Room?”
Elvis paused and looked down for a beat as he shook his head and laughed.
She nodded toward the shelf of perfume bottles, powders and the basket of dainty pink sanitary napkin boxes with Kotex printed along the sides.
He let out a low whistle and rubbed his mouth.
“Man o man, I guess you got me, might be jus a lil nervous. I ‘spose I really weren’t watching were I was going, huh?”
Freddie couldn’t help the way she dumbly smiled back, noticing up close how long and thick his eyelashes were as he looked down at her through them. She suddenly had the urge to take his hand and lead him to the green room where she could make him a hot cup of tea and comfort him and give him all the advice she had from her four years of working at KWKH. But instead she took a deep breath and fidgeted with her cardigan.
“I won't tell anyone you were in here. It can be our secret."
other fic taglist - i won't tag you again on this unless you comment you want to be tagged:
Summary: It's Halloween Weekend, 1955, and two seniors from New Orleans, Hortense and Joan, are dressed up in their costumes and heading to Ponchartrain Beach Amusement Park to for a night of fun. Turns out up and coming performer Elvis Presley is going to be on the main stage tonight, and he is making quite a splash with the locals.
WC: 3K
Warning: Minor blood and gore.
The first chapter of my three-part offering for Elvis-o-Ween 2024.
Happy reading...... if you dare!
No proofreading, no betas, honestly its the third attempt at something scary. But I just needed to get it out there before I lost my noirve, as the cowardly lion might say.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
For @whositmcwhatsit some vitamin E for you
Tagging some friends, please share, comment and reblog.
Let me know if you want to be tagged (or untagged) in the coming chapters....
Hortense has had a hard night, and now Joan and her new friend Elvis make it harder. So she decides to get away from them, the police, her family, and find anything she can to distract herself from the horrors of the night and her memory finding the body of Martha Gayle, stabbed to death, in one of the back alleys of Pontchartrain Beach.
The trouble is, this Elvis guy won't leave her alone.
WC: 6,477
Warnings: More minor gore
This one got away from me. Now its 2 am and I have to work tomorrow... oy. No proofreading, sloppy writing, blah blah blah.
Happy Elvis-o-Ween my friends......
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged for ch 3....
Summary: It is the summer of 1968 and Elvis finds himself in a New Hollywood, no more production code, just a ratings system with the promise of more sex and violence. This is good, because Elvis is in transition too! He is hot off the set of his TV special and ready to make a gritty western he can be proud of. Things are going well, he's making friends on location in Arizona, but then first they cut some of the violence, and now he's not so sure there is going to be any sex scenes in this movie. What's next, are they going to make him sing to his horse?
Inspired by the cut nude bath scene and the notes in Donna Lewis' diary that there were originally sex scenes scripted in Charro!
A response to the writing prompt: "Cowboy Elvis"
Warnings: References to past sexual harassment, minor drug use implied and kissing.
WC: 13.4K
Thanks to my lovely writing support group @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @lookingforrainbows @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @shakerattlescroll @peskybedtime and to @whositmcwhatsit for alpha-ing most of this. It is been a crazy two months, I won't go into it, but if you are still reading my stuff let me know it.
July 29, 1968
Apacheland Arizona
Ina leaned against the back side of the sound stage listening to the cactus wren sing their sunrise melody for the desert. Off in the brush she saw a lizard scurry away. It was early, but the air was already beginning to heat up and hung there thick with promise. She took a sip of her coffee, savoring the light, sweet taste, her heart full of hopeful anticipation for the sweet day ahead.
She ran her fingers down over her blouse, enjoying the smooth empty feeling underneath where round flesh had been a month ago.
This picture had been the answer to her prayers, a sign that she could still land a part as the love interest role. It was a role she knew well, one she had been playing for ten years in vehicles designed to showcase male stars: John Wayne, Paul Newman, Jerry Lewis, and now Elvis. Ina rarely got a leading role in a picture focused on a couple or a strong female character, but she accepted it was still a good salary and it kept her busy on and off between modeling gigs.
Lately, however, the on and off had been more off, and her agent, Mickey, had started talking about auditioning for roles as older sisters, aunts, and even, gasp, mothers.
But then she got this and bam! She had knocked over her phone with excitement as Mickey described this project as a “modern, gritty western.” She’d even agreed to the nudity, accepting her agent’s advice that this was going to open up even more doors now that the production code was gone and the film industry had a new rating system that allowed for mature content.
The first American western with a sex scene. That’s how Chuck, this director, had pitched his script in their first meeting, while also assuring her it would be tasteful and artistic and mainly shot using her facial expressions. She hadn’t cared, signing anywhere they wanted if it meant staving off cinematic spinsterhood for as long as possible.
And then, after carefully examining every dimple in her bottom that night, Ina had launched into a month-long disciplined regimen of ballet classes, black beauties and one meal a day. Ina took a deep breath and inhaled the earthy, floral aroma of the Arizona desert, letting it fill her with confidence. Her tummy was svelte, her skin glowed with a healthy bronze tan, and she was ready to conquer the shoot ahead. She had a feeling about this picture. A good one.
Hollywood was buzzing about the TV special Elvis had just finished shooting. Apparently it was raw and gritty and unvarnished, just like the script for this film. And Chuck, her director, was the king of the westerns, who had been promoting Charro! in the trade press as Peckinpah meets Leone with more sex appeal and heart.
Ina looked out at the orange glow of the desert sky at sunrise one last time as she stomped out her cigarette butt and murmured to herself with hushed excitement.
“What a glorious start to a glorious day.”
She headed back inside and made her way around the back of the set where she bumped into Elvis’ stunt double and friend, Jerry. Ina grinned, she couldn’t help it, Jerry’s serious eyes and rugged shoulders made her heart skip a beat.
“That was some party last night, huh?”
Jerry looked down, his low chuckle heavy with the weight of words unspoken as they both reflected on the prior evening. Ina was sure she saw an echo of her own desire in the warmth dancing behind Jerry’s blue eyes.
“You should talk, Sandy Koufax. Charlie’s grateful he can still see.”
Ina gulped, covering her mouth.. “ Oh no! Is he really hurt? I felt so bad, I was aiming for his stomach.” Ina said, twirling her hair. “Although I didn’t feel nearly as bad after watching Elvis go after Alan with the whole bucket, intentionally, over and over. He really took it to the next level.”
“Oh, that’s just how the bossman lets off steam.”
“That’s one way to put it. Say, where is the old steam engine, anyway?”
“He just went out front to get some dirt on his clothes.”
Ina raised her eyebrow.
“He wants to make sure he has that real cowboy look.”
“Huh, Elvis Strasberg. Who knew?”
Ina thought of Elvis out rolling around in the dirt and tried not to giggle. This got harder and harder as she looked into Jerry’s eyes, which were also twinkling with amusement.
In a moment of vulnerability Ina decided to let down her guard and step closer, trailing her fingers over Jerry’s upper arm. His muscle flinched slightly under her hand and it made her feel a little flight of butterflies in her tummy.
“Too bad,” she murmured in what she hoped was a sexy, flirtatious voice. “I was beginning to hope maybe you’d have to step in for him today.”
Jerry’s eyes widened for a split second, as he ran his hand through his hair. “Uh, well, as far as I know his scenes today aren’t dangerous at all.”
“That’s what you think.” Ina smiled, walking backwards for a few steps to enjoy the slight blush coloring Jerry’s scruffy cheeks.
She couldn’t be sure, but she felt there was a spark between them, and it made her feel young and giddy. Fifteen years of having her body and self worth surveyed and scrutinized and picked apart had left Ina unsure of her seduction abilities. First it had been photographers and advertising executives, then producers and directors had joined the throng out to shatter her confidence. For some women, the brutality of the business helped them create a calloused, impenetrable outer shell and distorted sense of self worth. For Ina, it had done the opposite, and she frowned as she felt the familiar knot of insecurity tighten in her stomach and vowed not let her self doubt stop her from having fun this time. No, before the end of this shoot she’d get Jerry alone and find out if he was as quiet and soft spoken in bed as he was on set.
Twenty minutes later, Ina was still smiling to herself when she slunk into a chair in make-up and pulled her thick, terry cotton robe tighter around her body.
“Look at you,” Bertie gushed as she toyed with Ina’s long, brown hair. “Excited for the scenes today?”
Ina paused and looked at herself in the mirror, letting out a nervous sigh.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
She awkwardly smiled up at Bertie, and told herself to relax even as her shoulders inadvertently rolled upward and she tugged at the hem of her robe.
“You know five, even three years ago, you would kiss, passionately, then the camera would pan to the bedside table and come back into focus with you smoking. But now, Blow Up, Bonnie & Clyde, the new rating system. It’s a whole new ball game out there. I’m not sure - “
“Oh, you’re gonna be fine.”
Ina looked down and studied the top of her cleavage, she felt strangely ambivalent about the nudity and the sex scenes they were shooting. She was proud that they wanted her to do them, it bolstered her self esteem and made her feel longed for and desired, special. But she couldn’t shake that nagging feeling deep down that she would get on set, bare it all and then have the director and DP exchange hushed whispers before pulling her off and recasting her role. She met her own gaze again in the mirror and tried to squelch her self doubt.
“I know, I know, and it’s all very tasteful. I trust Chuck. Still, I’m the one wearing a see-through robe. All Elvis has to do is take off his cowboy hat before he carries me to the bed. He might be shirtless in the second scene, but for the most part all we’ll see is a little bit of his ear.”
Bertie nodded into big rounds of hair she was smoothing over with oil and pinning into place with bobby pins lodged at the side of her mouth.
“Yeah, well, with most guys I’d be fine just seeing the ear, cuz women’s bodies are just more beautiful. But with Elvis, I kinda wished they’d have him nude too, you know?” She clicked her tongue and winked at Ina in the mirror,
“You should get Betty Friedan on that, it would really be a movement for sex equality. Though I bet he’d give you a private show if you asked him, Bertie. He’s making his way through the crew, two at a time I hear.”
Bertie wiggled her eyebrows into the mirror.
“Yeah, I heard about that, two of the pretty Mexican extras, right? They can have him, I just want to look at him. I don’t think I’d survive if he touched me.” She flipped her long red hair over her shoulder and bit her lip. “I don’t know how you are going to make love to him all day.”
“Oh, well, when it’s work, you sort of detach yourself. I mean, yes, Elvis is very handsome, but he doesn’t really send me, you know? You should have seen him last night with his guys. Like a pack of wild animals.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I think Jerry is the only one who has ever opened a book, or doesn’t eat with his hands.”
Ina tried not to move as she watched Bertha pin another round hair piece in place.
“The stunt double? He sure has that silent type thing going for him.” Bertie squinted her eyes at Ina as she stuck a few more pins in. “Ahhhh, let me guess, that’s the type you go for. Over Elvis. Are you telling me that you wouldn’t, you know, play patty cake with Elvis if he made the move? I thought he always dated his leading lady, maybe those extras are just the appetizer before the main dish..”
Ina sat up, admiring the tower of rolled hair Bertie had constructed on top of her head. Satisfied, she leveled Bertie with a friendly but stern look.
“Things can get sticky when you bed your co-star. And giving in just encourages them. You shoulda seen Jerry Lewis trailing me around off set like a creep. like I owed it to him.”
Ina grimaced, remembering Lewis’ sweaty brow as he had pushed her against the wall of her dressing room and promised that she’d like it, that she didn’t know what she was missing. She shuddered, thinking of him and all the others: the photographers who’d grinded into her as they straddled over her during a photo shoot. The producers who had invited her to an audition and then cornered her alone. She felt sick to her stomach and reached out for the random half drunk bottle of Coke on the vanity in front of her to wash away the bad taste in her mouth.
“You ok, Miss Balin?”
“Please Bertie, call me Ina. After that party last night I think we’re all on a first name basis.”
“Ha, yeah, I guess.” She turned Ina around to finish her make up. “You know, I think you might be the only woman here who doesn’t want to sleep with Elvis.”
“Thank god Elvis seems to be somewhat of a gentleman, because I’m not looking to be another notch on his belt, I’ve worked too hard to stay in this business without a casting couch reputation, and I plan to keep it that way. Plus, with all the bed hopping that happens on location, and then having to run scenes together if things get, you know, weird. Better to keep things professional between us.”
“On the other hand, a lonely stunt man...”
Ina winked, she could feel the giddy excitement bubble up just thinking of Jerry. She tried to stifle it and stay aloof as she spoke.
“A month is a long time, even a lonely stuntman deserves some company.”
A cough interrupted their giggles and the women turned to see Elvis leaning against the doorway, one hand on his belt. He squinted his eyes, looking at them with exaggerated suspicion as he wiped his hand over his forehead leaving a dark streak of dirt above his brow.
“Uh huh, and just what’d I stumble into here, huh? You two look like you are up ta no good, boy, I tell ya what.”
Perfectly lined smoky eyes sat below Elvis’ dirty forehead and more dirt billowed off his trousers as he strode toward the two women, his hands hanging off the top of his corduroy trousers. Bertie shot Ina a cautious glance in the mirror that warned her not to laugh, even as the sides of her lips seemed to hold back a chuckle.
“I’ve seen that look before Iny Niny.” Elvis said. “Right about the moment ya took aim and fired at poor Charlie Hodge, square the eyes.”
“I really didn’t mean to hurt him! Really.” Something about Elvis’ easy charm made it impossible not to smile broadly. “I - we - we’re not up to anything, you. Just chit chat. I was saying how I almost didn’t recognize you when I got here yesterday. On account of that beard you got, Presley.”
“I almost don’t recognize myself, honey.” He paused and looked in the mirror, taking a step closer as he rubbed the dirt into his forehead more. “That’s probably a good thing, maybe this picture actually has a chance to be something.”
Ina sat up as Bertie dusted her with a last round of hair spray and swiveled her chair around to face him.
“Oh, now don’t say that, there’s a reason you’re the star here. I love your movies.”
Ina may not have actually seen them all, but she knew of Elvis’ desire to be in more serious dramas. It was a common topic of conversation in Hollywood when his name came up. Ok, well, one of the common topics. Maybe not as common as his reputation for fucking his costars, she mused to herself, but still, as someone who had even less clout to be picky about projects, she sympathized with that ever present double bind of needing the money, not wanting to be seen as difficult, and yet, also yearning for more creative fulfillment.
Their eyes met and he nodded to himself, pursing his lips, as if he were reading her mind,
“Huh, so you're the one.” He grinned and took his cowboy hat off, running his hand through his hair as he tried to fill the awkward silence. “Well, sorry but I can’t issue you a refund, Iner Niner. All I can promise is that this ‘un will be better than some of the stinkers, I reckon.”
Ina smiled big, thinking of the desert sunrise this morning, all the good omens. “I don’t know if I would ever describe an Elvis film as a stinker. But I do have a good feeling about this film.”
Elvis scratched his beard, a naughty blush lighting up his cheeks as he took in the very sheer negligee peeking out from under her white terry cloth robe.
“Huh, feeling better and better the more I look- I mean listen to you, INy”
Ina felt a chill up her spine as she looked into Elvis’ dancing eyes, lingering on his face with newfound appreciation. There was something about the way the stubbly beard he had grown out for this role accentuated his jawline and made him seem more rugged, more handsome than he had looked when he played the polished romantic lead in his previous films. She felt a flutter of something unfamiliar stir in her belly; she had never been gaga over Elvis before.
And you are not now, she told herself, it’s just the characters and the scenes you know you are shooting today. Besides, he flirts with everyone, why he’d been flirting with you and every woman in the bar last night even when he had one or two extras on his lap.
Elvis arched his eyebrow, and Ina pulled her robe closer with a nervous laugh.
“Yeah, I think you’re gonna be seeing a lot more of me today.” She chuckled. “I was just telling Bertie I remembered when all I had to do to film a sex scene was lead a cowboy into my wigwam, and let the camera cut to smoke coming out of the top. We left the rest to the audience’s imagination.”
“Yeah, I think I remember that one.” Elvis whistled as he plopped into the make-up chair next to her. “Well, don’t worry, we’re only gotta pretend to make love with an audience of a hundred or so crew members watching, so no pressure.”
They laughed nervously, and then one of the production assistants peered around the door and called to Ina that the DP was ready to work out the lighting for her fully nude bath scene. She stood and gave Elvis a friendly pat, smiling inwardly as she looked over her shoulder to see Bertie trying to wipe the dirt off his forehead.
“See you out there in the ring, Presley.”
“Ok,” he smiled.
Ina studied him for another beat, wondering if the way his beard framed his lips made them look even bigger and more luscious, but she couldn’t be sure.
Striding from the building with wardrobe and dressings back to the soundstage, Ina considered how Elvis had managed to meet and completely defy her expectations. She had never seen him at awards shows, premieres or parties, nor ran into him around town or at the studio canteens. Indeed,he had a reputation for keeping to himself in Hollywood. All she knew was the second hand information she got from people who had worked with him and the Hollywood rumor mill. There were so many contradictory descriptions of him that no, she had not known what to expect when she arrived in Arizona and discovered an Elvis she barely recognized under the scruffy beard he’d grown.
When Chuck, the director, had brought her over to introduce them, he had been shy and sweet, sheepishly sticking out his hand with an affected deep “Hullo, I’m Elvis Presley.” But then by the end of the rehearsals yesterday they had become more comfortable with each other. Something about kissing Elvis inbetween jokes she knew he was making to make her feel at ease had broken the ice between them. And he had started in with the nicknames almost immediately, helping to bring her into the camaraderie that had been established with the crew before her arrival.
The run through yesterday had gone well, all jokes aside, and he had shown himself to be respectful and kind, never pushing or trying anything when they were in each other's arms. It’s probably good that he’s sleeping with some of the extras, Ina thought to herself. That way there would be no pent up sexual expectations and she could just focus on being a professional and perhaps even friends with Elvis.
Yes, she could be friends with him. Ina had only been in Apacheland for a little over 24 hours, but she could tell from Elvis’ warmth that they had established a solid rapport and chemistry for their roles. She felt as safe as she could with him as she readied herself for her first nude role on film.
“Today is going to be a good day,” Ina repeated to herself as she opened the door and entered the sound stage.
Ina was walking along the corridor behind the set when she heard Jerry’s voice on the other side of the plywood and hurried to catch him and flirt a little more. But then he said her name and she stopped, listening, as she realized he was speaking with one of Elvis’ other friends. It sounded like Charlie.
“I saw y’all. Why, she had her hands all over you, ya big stud. You really ain’t gonna try to bury the hatchet in that briar patch?”
“Oh, you know how Crazy can be. All I did was apologize to Alma and Flor for blocking the doorway last night and he ‘bout split in two. I ain’t about to try no funny business with his leading lady.”
“But you heard him call her Groucho, said he could barely stand to kiss her with that mustache above her lip. Said she was so manly, you could almost mistake her for one a the cowboy extras in drag. Like a goddamn drag queen who forgot to shave, is what he said.”
Ina felt the blood drain from her face and she began to tremble, tracing her fingers above her smooth upper lip, the one she diligently waxed every two weeks. They might as well have punched her in the gut with a steel two by four. She could almost taste something metallic at the back of her throat, where a lump formed.Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, and it took all her willpower to push them back as she stood there paralyzed while Jerry and Charlie chatted away.
“Aw, well he was off his rocker, she isn’t nearly as bad as that dog from continuity he had in his room at NBC, you know, with the big knockers?”
“Nah, I think In-ahhs pretty cute myself. If she’d been pawing my chest I’d be on that like white on rice, man.”
“Heard you like drag queens, Hodges.”
“Aw naw man, see, now that ain’t fair. Sides, that’s Lamar.”
The busy sound of the crew talking and moving around the sound stage echoed up into the lights with Charlie and Jerry’s laughter, but Ina could hardly hear anything except the pounding of her heart through her whole body. Air. She needed air. Ina hurried out a side door, her mind was racing and there was no way she could stomach the idea of filming a sex scene with Elvis now. Jerry and Charlie’s words had fractured the fragile veneer of confidence she had spent the last month building up. Dieting, ballet classes, early nights, slathering her face in cold cream and plunging it in ice first thing in the morning, staying away from alcohol and ice cream. She had worked so hard to get to a place where she had been able to look in the mirror and tell herself she could do this. Now all her self doubt had returned tenfold.
Facing the desert, she lit a cigarette and muttered under her breath, her voice cracking as tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Oh god oh god, why did I take this role? Why do I embarrass myself again and again?”
Ina pressed her hand to her throat as she sucked in deeply, willing the nicotine to steady her shaking body. She longed to run off, get in her car, and maybe drive to that bar down the road Bertie had told her about, the one where all the baseball players went.
The very idea of male attention was like a salve, and it helped her slow her breath as she slumped against the warm, concrete wall of the sound stage and looked out at the desert, focusing on the hills in the distance.
It was like looking out at a completely different view than she had faced that morning. The land was now desolate and unforgiving in the July heat, and the jagged peaks of Superstition mountain loomed like a giant, dark fiery sentinel in the sky. Her chest rose and fell with each inhale and exhale of smoke, her fingers trembled as she tried to quell the turmoil churning inside her.
Just when she was sure she couldn’t walk back inside, she smelled a hint of sage in the dust, it filled her nostrils with renewed energy. The wind whispered in her ear that she was stronger than she knew, she had trudged harder paths than this. She could put one foot in front of the other.
The door next to her exploded open and there was the fresh face of the young, blonde PA who had called to her in wardrobe.
“Oh, there you are Miss Balin, we’re ready for you.”
Ina sucked in another drag of her cigarette and took a deep breath. She could do this. Elvis and his entourage were a bunch of childish idiots. Fuck them.
True to his promise, the director, Chuck, kept the set closed for the nude bath scene Ina was shooting first. It was just him, the cinematographer, his assistant, the boom operator, and three female PAs. One to hold the clap board and two to help Ina in and out of the tub. The scene was blocked so the camera only captured her naked from behind with the side of her breast visible as she donned a sheer blue robe lined with black lace. They would run it from the top, then Chuck would run over and tell her how stunning she was and ask for another take as she shivered. It took eleven takes in all before he and the DP were content they had the footage they needed.
Ina reclined in her chair, trying to warm up during the short break before the next scene. She was rehearsing the dialogue as people trickled in to shoot her first love scene with Elvis, and she suddenly became paranoid that other crew members had heard Jerry and Charlie’s story about Elvis’ calling her a drag queen. She sat up and looked around. Suddenly every hushed whisper was about her, every glance her way was filled with pity. She gripped the side of her chair and told herself to get it to-fucking-gether.
The next scene was meant to occur directly after the bath, when her character, Tracy, discovers Elvis’ character, Jess, rummaging around in her bedroom looking for his gun. They would argue, then kiss, then argue more before he carried her to the bed. After that, he would remove her robe and begin to kiss her neck, stop and then put his hat on the bedpost, before the camera moved in for an extreme close up of her face as they made love.
Then they would break the set and set up for the second sex scene that was meant to take place at the end of the film when Jess has been victorious against the band of outlaws and takes her to Mexico with him to start a new life across the border.
Ina squeezed her hand, using her thumb as a metronome as she said her lines. “I must look new to you - toooo you - I MUST look NEW to YOU now.” She had these little games she had learned in acting class to vary the rhythm and emphasis over and over until she was comfortable in the dialogue, in the character, and it rolled off her tongue naturally, without having to think about it.
Elvis' voice rang out high above the buzz of the crew and all the words she had ever known fell out of her head. She felt her sphincter clench up tightly instinctively as if on cue at the sound of his chuckle, and a frown formed on her lips. The air was suddenly ripe with the smell of sweaty bodies and stale coffee and cigarette smoke.
Looking over her shoulder, just the sight of him surrounded by his flunkies made Ina’s stomach sour. A spark of defiance bloomed in her belly at his smug face and she longed now to walk up to Elvis and slap him sharply across the face before telling him off for being such a rotten two-faced charming bastard. But instead she popped another black beauty to fight off the hunger she had sensed growing in her belly and steeled herself to give the performance of a lifetime.
Elvis passed by her chair as she stood, a crooked grin pushing the apples of his cheeks up above his beard.
“Well, might as well get it over with.”
His despondency made Ina bristle. She was completely incapable of stopping the prickly voice that sprang out from her throat.
“We don’t have to shoot these love scenes.”
Elvis paused in his stride toward the set and looked back at Ina, his brow furrowed for a moment before he grinned again, bigger and wider.
“Huh? Course I want to shoot ‘em, love scenes are my specialty.”
Ina narrowed her eyes at his stupid, smirking expression as he glanced around at his friends as they whistled and chimed in with a chorus of stupid affirmations.
“Uh huh.”
“That’s right.“
“On and off the set”
“Well, you seem anxious to, what was it, get this over with?” She said cooly, leveling him with a glare. “So then it must be me. Maybe we could just cut them from the film altogether. CHUUCK?”
Elvis’ face began to scrunch up in a frown as Ina’s voice rang out like a knife, cutting through the chaos of a live shoot. The sound stage had been buzzing with activity as the crew readied the set, but now everyone had stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at the two leads.
Elvis’ eyes zoned in on Ina and his face clouded with concern as his hands tightened against his body in clenched fists.
“Now see here - “ then he paused and took a deep breath, smiling big.
That broad, smooth, movie star beam.
“Aw, now I think we got are wires crossed someplace.That’s jus my ole stage fright talkin’, honey. Gets me ev’ry time like a sonabitch. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Iny Tiny, come get over here. I feel very honored to work with you. I been sayin’ all week, haven’t I, Chuck? That I couldn’t wait for Ina to get here, class up this joint’?”
Ina looked at where Chuck stood, hands at his hips as he nodded, a terrified grin plastered on his face.
“That’s right, that’s right. Why, that's what we’ve all been saying, Ina, we couldn’t wait for our Tracy to get here.”
Chuck dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped it over his big, balding head as he spoke slowly, as if talking to a spooked horse. Ina
“I think I know what’s going on, my dear.”
Chuck looked over at Elvis and then put his arm around Ina, guiding her toward her mark.
“You’re nervous. We’ve just spent two hours during the bath scene. And this sort of - um - delicate, shall we say, yes, delicate feminine performance is new to you, isn't it?”
“Well, yes, I suppose, but I - “
Chuck put his finger to Ina’s mouth
“Say no more, my dear. It’s natural to feel vulnerable in this situation. But let me assure you, everything is being shot in the most artistic technique possible. And you, well, just look at you, huh?” He spun her around in the center of the set.
“Ina, you are a dream. My living, breathing Renoir painting. And I want you to know, that was my inspiration for your room here. The colors, the outfits, a Parisian chorus line meets the Old West. The colors, the costumes, they are meant to evoke the Belle Epoch, you know? You are wearing the same outfits Degas’ dancers wore, did you know that?”
“Uh huh, you mean if they wore anything?” Ina added in a clipped tone.
“See, and that’s exactly it! The original work of art is, of course, the beauty of the female form.”
“Cain’t argue with that.” Elvis smirked, but Ina shot him a withering look which threw him off again and once more he was frowning and searching her face.
Chuck noticed none of this and kept talking.
“And you are an exemplary example of the female form, a perfect specimen of a woman.”
“Well, I assure you I am no drag queen.”
Elvis coughed nervously, his hands clenched in fists at his side. The quick, sharp look he shot Joe did not escape Ina’s notice and she knew then that he had said the things Jerry and Charlie had been laughing about. She narrowed her glare at him, telegraphing her contempt as he stuttered and tried to regain control of the conversation.
“No - ah-uh -er - siree, honey, you’re the real deal, got more class than the rest of this outfit combined. Why, I reckon I’m more nervous ‘bout this scene than you are.”
Chuck nodded vigorously.
“Yes, we are all nervous shooting something that is, as I said, delicate like this. And your character is unsure in this scene, she loves Jess, but is torn, because she’s worried he is still the bandit she sent away. Channel your feelings into the scene and let’s make beautiful artwork here today.”
Ina rolled her eyes. “Ok, ok, I’m ok. Like he said, let’s just get it over with already.”
Elvis grinned as he walked around the set door to his mark.
“That’s the spirit, Iny Beany.”
Chuck yelled action, directing them through the scene as the cameras rolled.
“You see him rooting through your stuff, and you think of how long it's been, how he left you without a word. You hate him because you love him, but you wish you didn’t and you are trying to keep it all bottled up. Beautiful. Indifferent. That’s it Ina, that cool, icy glare, it’s perfect.”
It was not hard for Ina to muster a cool, icy glare for Elvis as he looked down at her. Every time they started, one of the PAs would come over and spray her body and chest with water for continuity with the bath scene that was just supposed to have occurred in the storyline.
In the third run through, she couldn’t help herself when Elvis’ foot knocked into hers. She thought of that guilty grimace she saw move across his face at the words “drag queen” and she stepped on his foot. Hard.
“Perfect! Perfect Ina, you’re nailing it!” Chuck called out from where he was watching the monitor.
“Nailing me is more like it,” Elvis said, jumping back, a hurt pout on his face. Then he reached out and stroked the side of her shoulder.
“Say, you sure you ok? You’re not sore at me for something, are you? It’d be better if we just clear the air. If I said something this morning, or did something in passing, honey, I’m sorry. But you gotta tell me.”
Ina looked in his big blue eyes, searching hers, seeking a connection. She glanced off behind him, at the brocade pink wall paper. The air smelled of bath water, sweat and cheap aftershave. Chuck was right, she thought, this could be a cheap Parisian brothel.
“I assure you, I am fine.” Ina forced her mouth into a tight smile. “Just watch where you’re going and we’ll be fine.”
He squinted his eyes at her, but seemed to decide against whatever it was he originally wanted to say, and stepped back with his arms up in surrender. “Okay. Alright. Whatever you say, Iny, my mistake. Let’s try again, I bet we’ll get it right somehow.”
They went through the whole scene three times, up until the part where Jess lifts Tracy up and carries her to the bed. Elvis’ eyes narrowed as he stepped toward her, uttering his lines in a stern, serious voice. But when he picked her up and hoisted her in the air, she heard Charlie’s obnoxious laughter in the background and their words from earlier began to play through her head again on a loop.
The shrill sound of his laugh sent a sharp bolt of pain down the center of her head and suddenly she felt as if ginger ale was bubbling up on to the top of her brain. She wasn’t sure if she could hold it together anymore.
There was the taste of bile again at the back of her throat. She swallowed, running through all of the tools she had learned in the Actor’s Studio such as telling herself she was Tracy and trying to channel her anger into the tension between Tracy and Jess. She was, after all, supposed to be fighting Jess’ advances at first and pushing him off before giving in. But she could barely look at Elvis and instinctively jerked back when he placed her on the bed and began to move his fingers over her sternum.
Her head throbbed and she could feel more tears welling up. She had to get out of there and take a little break, so she cried out, “CUT!”
Elvis jumped back, a panicked look on his face.
“Did I hurt you, Iny Beany? Wanna do it again, just to practice, from the mark by the bed?”
“No.,” she hissed under her breath, pushing him away. Maybe she didn’t need a break, maybe they could just skip this scene altogether.
“No, no no. I’m sorry, I just can’t do it. Chuck, do we really need a full love scene? We’re not making Belle du Jour here.”
Elvis had his hands on his hips, a stricken look on his face while Ina stood, straightening what was left of her dignity and snapping her fingers for the PAs to bring her thicker robe.
“Ina, darling, we just went through this.” Chuck’s transatlantic accent was getting thicker and higher-pitched the more he spoke. “And I hate to bring this up, you know I do, my dear, but it's in your contract.”
“Contract or not, I can’t do it. I just can’t.”
“My dear, what can I do to make you comfortable?” Chuck pleaded.
“Nothing. I would rather make love to a rattlesnake than to that man.”
Elvis stood taller, his fingers balled up into fists as his leveled, polished voice began to transform into a Southern snarl.
“Yeah, uh huh, well I had about enough of this bull shit. Rattlesnake, huh? That can be arranged, honey, why, I’ll get it myself.”
“Well, I bet it will be small and limp, just like you.”
He staggered back when she hurled those words at him, flustered and mumbling as he looked around the set to see who had been in earshot and heard her yell out the words ‘small and limp’ at him. The answer, of course, was everybody. Because everybody in the crew was watching.
They had, of course, originally gathered around because Charro! was making film history with today’s shoot.
All the popular European films being released had sex scenes, James Bond was having sex. Several recent westerns had initially included nude scenes, but studios had cut them at the last minute.
But 1968 marked the dawning of a new era. The MPAA had a new rating system. Bonnie & Clyde had proven last year that audiences not only had a stomach for violence, but wanted sex. And like Bonnie, they wanted it much more than they got it. And so this picture, and about a dozen others in production, were all racing to give it to them.
Even if the plan was to pan to a hat and then just Ina’s face, Charro! was going to make history.
Or rather, it would have made history. Instead, the entire crew watched in horror as Ina threw up her hands and stomped off in protest while Elvis coughed loudly, took a deep breath, and then announced to the crowd
“Don’t worry, folks, we’re gonna get Arthur Rankin in here and he’s gonna recreate these scenes with claymation. Make a little Elvis the Rednosed Cowboy.” His voice rang out with forced cheerfulness, followed by a ripple of nervous laughter that spread through the soundstage.
“Boy, I tell ya what, now that would be a historical milestone, huh Chuck? Bet audiences would pay double ta see a stop motion love scene.”
The director nodded as Elvis patted him on the shoulder with a forced, playful candor and then strode out of the studio followed by his entourage.
Elvis’ motel room was dark, save for the television, an ever present companion, and the table lamp that cast shadows against the wall outlining Alma’s silhouette. The light captured every curve of her body as it lay sideways across the bed next to him. His fingers tapped absentmindedly over her bronze thigh, but his mind was otherwise occupied and failed to register the coquettish look she was giving him as she pouted and ran her hand over his arm.
He was thinking of his first film and the time had asked his co-star, Richard Egan, the secret to good acting.
“You. You already got it kid, in spades. Why do you think they renamed this picture after your song? Just be you, unaffected, unadulterated. You’re a natural.”
But what good had natural ability been without opportunity? He’d had such high hopes back then, hopes to be in real movies about real people, stories with an edge that packed a punch. And for a time, it seemed like he was. Dramas in which the singing was a plausible part of the premise.
But somewhere along the way the edge had been sanded off and his plans had all gone wrong. He’d gotten himself typecast as the type of character he hated, a romantic lead who broke into song during an appointment with the IRS. Those roles were fine for Rock Hudson, but not for him. He knew he could do better. Better than dumb musicals, better than all this.
He had those same high hopes for this picture when he first read the script.
“Guess I should be happy this western’s actually being filmed in the goddamn desert and not in some California shrub valley,” he mumbled, balling his hands into fists as he spoke.
“What was that, baby?”
Elvis looked up at the woman lying next to him, he had forgotten she was even there. Her warm body next to him had become just another amenity of the room, like the mini fridge or the Gideons Bible. The puzzled look on her young, naive face reminded him how truly alone he was.
Oblivious to Elvis' existential crisis, Alma decided maybe he needed some prompting after their kisses had dissolved into still silence. She moved her hand to Elvis’ thigh, stopping when he flinched and jumped up almost as if he were trying to escape her touch. She frowned, then flipped her hair as she adjusted and lay prone over the polyester orange bedspread, fashioning a come hither look on her face. She could tell he was rattled by the onset fight and was trying everything in her bag of tricks to laugh it off and redirect him to something better. Her.
“Ha, small and limp. That bitch has no idea what she’s missing. It took all my self control not to cry out in front of everyone that you have an anaconda in your pants, Elvis.”
A grimace passed over his face, and Elvis started to button up his shirt and mumble to the floor.
“Don’t, baby - just-” He softened his voice at the rejection he saw in her eyes. “Honey, I can’t stand it when women do that.”
“What, what am I doing wrong?” Alma sat, her face falling as she scooted back against the pillows.
Elvis pulled on the red bandana around his neck and paced the other way, looking back at her as he tucked his shirt back into his clean, brown corduroy pants. His shoulders stiffened.
“Insincerity. I can’t, I jus hate it when women go overboard trying to puff up my ego. I’ve had my share of lovers, no one ever complained. That’s not the point.”
“It isn’t?”
“Nah, honey. What that bitch is really saying is she don’t take me serious, I’m not man enough for this fucking role, for her New York high society standards. Fat lot of good any a that did her, thinks I don’t know she’s been in what, five pictures? Jerry Lewis? Try twenty five, sister. Give me a goddamn break. She’s wound so tight, she could start a fight in an empty house, I tell ya what, boy, and that’s the god honest truth.”
He began to pace the room, wringing his hands over as he walked.
“This un’ is gonna be different, Chuck said, more raw, Chuck said, more real.” His voice trilled between a high falsetto and a deep growl. “Then first they cut the violence, and now this bullshit. What’s next? Bet they gonna try and have me sing to my fuckin horse!”
He punched the wall. “Fucking cowboys don’t fucking sing!” He screamed to the ceiling, then began to pace again, his hands now balled up in fists.
He turned and looked at Alma. “You ever see John Wayne sing? Gary Cooper? ‘Fore they walked over to the OK corral to shoot the bad guy?”
He punched the wall again and then turned and tried to compose himself when he saw Alma flinch.
“Ok ok ok ok.” He took a deep breath. “I - uh - this picture’s got me all keyed up.”
“Want some grass? Flor has some killer grass, make you forget today even happened.”
“Nah, honey - now, good lil girls like you should know better than to mess with that stuff.”
Alma pulled her hand through her hair and struck what she thought was a glamorous, come hither pose.
“Want me to give you a blow job? Help you relax?”
Elvis frowned. “Man, like a goddamn cat in heat and twice as willing. Don’t you think of nothing else?”
Alma sat up and started to put her clothes on, her voice as low as her hopes for the evening.
“You’re the one who invited me up here and had me undress while you watched. I’m just trying to do what I thought you wanted.”
“Well stop tryin’ to think, you’ll wear yourself out.”
Alma grabbed her shoes and opened the door, finding Joe on the other side with one hand about to knock and another holding up a tray of food in his hands.
“Oh, hey -”
“Hey yourself.” Alma said with a huff and a very aggressive hair flip, her long brown tresses smacking Joe’s cheek.
Elvis shrugged as Joe looked after Alma, whistling to himself.
“Man o man, EP, you got the prettiest girl here. What’s up her butt?”
“I don’t know - Something up with the chicks on this picture, man, stuck up and crazier than a sack full a possums.”
Elvis looked at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall across from the bed as Joe mumbled about how many crazy women they had met on their journeys, half-listening as he stroked his beard and reassured himself that he looked just as fit as Clint Eastwood. And more handsome. He winked at himself and straightened his belt buckle, then looked over at Joe.
“Now hold on a second, son, jus’ what in high heaven is that?”
Elvis lifted his hands from his left hip and pointed at the cheeseburgers and fries Joe had laid out on the table, fixing him with a dark glare.
“You said dinner, EP, brought you dinner.”
“Tryin’ to get me back in the 200 club like you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you been auditioning for the part of lardass of the group.”
“But last night - I thought you -
“I thought, I thought - you ain’t thought shit, and that’s the problem. I’m supposed to be shirtless on film tomorrow and you fixin’ to get me fat as a boarding house cat.”
Joe frowned, furrowing his brow for the split second it took him to plaster a smile back on and nod. Now he understood what was up Alma’s ass, and what was about to be up his too if he didn’t turn this around.
“Right, boss, my mistake, tell me what you want and I’ll go get it.”
“What I want, what I want. Ain’t nobody cares what I want, and that’s the goddamn problem. Save a whole lotta time and money if you just thought to ask first.”
Elvis put his hands on his waist and cried out an inaudible growl to the ceiling.
“Jus… just bring me a caesar salad. A big one.”
Joe hurried out and Elvis went over to cover up the burgers, but the smell was too tempting, so instead he sat down and began to devour them one after another, mumbling to himself in between bites.
“Goddamit, if I look fat tomorrow it’ll be Joe’s goddamn fuckin’ fault.”
There was a knock at the door, and he yelled for whoever it was to come in as he went to wash up.
“Joe told me to come get rid of the - uh - food tray.”
Charlie’s voice trailed off as Elvis emerged from the bathroom and followed Charlie’s eyes to the table and the plates that were empty, save for a handful of cold fries.
“Well, have at it - wait.”
Elvis stepped back and looked around, grabbing one of the guns from the night stand and put it in his belt. He had all this nervous energy running up and down his body, he needed to just get out of this room, out of this motel, get as far as possible to just breathe some fresh air and think. He snapped his fingers at Charlie.
“Grab Gee Gee, we’re going for a drive.”
Charlie’s face softened into a big goofy, excited grin. “Okee dokee artichokee, where we heading?”
“Anywhere that ain’t this goddamn motel, numb nuts.” Elvis started to head down the exterior stairs, running his hand over the warm, wrought iron bannister. He looked back over his shoulder and clapped.
“Bring the cigars, too, then meet me at the car. Chop chop.”
A renewed sense of purpose guided his steps as Elvis walked down the corridor of motel rooms that lined the pool,and he ran his hands up and down the front of his shirt. He mulled over what he wanted to do that didn’t involve eating more hamburgers. Or eating anything.
When he looked up, he realized he had stopped outside Ina’s room. There, through the curtain, he could see the back of her through the curtain where she sat on her bed, talking to someone on the phone.
“No no no, Mickey, of course I understand. Yes, well, I don’t know, I think you have to have been on top to get back on top, but your meaning is not lost on me. I get it. Yes. Opportunity of a lifetime. I know. Elvis Elvis. Don’t worry. I’m gonna go make it right, right now.”
She looked up at the ceiling and wiped the sides of her eyes, summoning a mask of quiet cheer Elvis recognized well as she clutched the phone tight.
“Yes, no - I’ll be a good girl, Mickey. I promise. I know, I know, no bread.”
He was transfixed, enjoying the power he felt watching her unaware, and pressed closer to the glass, careful not to draw attention to himself. A small front section of her long, flowing hair fell out from behind her ears and she absentmindedly began to twist it nervously. She looked like a fragile little girl, like a beautiful flower someone had stepped on. The sight of her anxiously talking away pulled on his heart strings.
He shook his head. What the fuck had happened? Why was she so angry at him? He'd played the part of the funny, affable host from the minute they met, introducing her to the crew and having Gee Gee get her screwdrivers as they all yukked it up in the bar. He'd about busted his gut when she lobbed a handful of ice at Charlie and knocked him over the back of the couch.
He stood there watching as her big brown eyes lit up while she told her agent how nice the desert was. He almost believed her. Goddamit, why couldn’t she just be a good girl and get along? She’d been sweet and flirty in make-up and then what, an hour or two later, her claws were out and she’d aimed them at him.
He whistled and thought about the fickleness of women as he turned to walk the long way around the pool.
Thirty seconds later he heard the thud of a door opening followed by Ina’s voice calling out for him.
Elvis stopped, his hands moved out as if to balance himself as he swiveled around, slowly, to face her. A sense of dread settling in his stomach. Up above him, he saw Charlie and Gee Gee making their way down the staircase, while to his left a group of crew members were heading for the pool. The smell of chlorine wafted through the open air hallway.
He cautiously trudged back toward the doorway to where Ina stood, each footfall a slow thump of his cowboy boot against the hard concrete sidewalk.
“Oh good, I’m glad I caught you, Elvis.” She swallowed, there it was again, that cheerful mask settling over her face as she exhaled a nervous laugh. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”
Elvis straightened up, looking around again before pulling on the red bandana at his throat. He definitely didn’t want to be alone with Ina. She was unpredictable and he couldn’t stand the awkward energy that flickered between them. However, he also didn’t want another public scene and he could already hear their names being whispered by some of the crew at the pool.
So he did what he always did with an audience, he mustered a wide, beaming smile and spoke in a nonchalant, cool voice:
“Hey honey, you ain’t gotta worry bout me, I’m all good. You get your beauty sleep and I’ll see you tamarra onset an - “
Ina’s lip trembled, she looked like she might fall apart at any moment.
Shit he thought, unable to stop himself from walking over to her and stroking her shoulder.
“There there, been a rough day. This desert heat, I tell ya what, baby, does things to ya head. Now go ahead and listen to ol’ Elvis -”
Ina put her hand over his where it squeezed her shoulder.
“Could we just talk - just for a moment?” Her eyes pleaded with him. “Alone. I - I won’t take much time, I just - I’d like to apologize and clear the air if you’ll let me. Otherwise, otherwise I won’t be able to sleep and then you’ll be making love to a haggard old zombie first thing in the morning.”
Elvis' eyes softened and he looked around once more before nodding. “Ok.”
As soon as the door closed he was an obedient puppy letting her lead him by the hand to sit on the bed, where he took off his cowboy hat and toyed with it in his lap.
Ina stepped away, backing toward the dresser where she lifted herself to sit next to the TV, but then changed her mind. She felt like a ship adrift, unmoored and out of her comfort zone. Sitting and swinging her legs about was too casual, she decided, so she stood back up and swept the hair that had fallen out of her high ponytail behind her ears.
Just make it short, sweet, earnest, she reminded herself, you’re no stranger to eating humble pie. Indeed, Ina reflected on the number of times she had apologized unnecessarily just to smooth things over with her mother or sister, a producer, an ad executive. This was one of the first times she felt she actually had behaved badly and now she was lost for words. If only there was a script for life.
“I - um - thanks for seeing me - I - I - I.”
All the words left her head when she found Elvis’ dark blue eyes studying her beneath his long lashes. He was rotating his cowboy hat in his lap. The smell of the heavy floral cleaning products the maids had used lingered in the air, stronger now that the air conditioner cycled on with a heaving, mechanic whomp. She swallowed again, and counted to ten, trying to ignore the way the back of her neck seemed to prickle as a chill went down her spine. She steadied herself, forcing her eyes to connect with his.
“Elvis, I am so very sorry. I mean it. I - I - I - ’ve never lost it before onset, it is so unprofessional I can barely stand to look at myself.”
She felt a release of tension as she watched his hands relax. He took a deep breath and stroked his beard.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Ina, I been making two to three pictures a year since 1933. I can roll with the punches, ain’t nothing I can’t handle. ThoughI gotta admit you threw me off back there.”
The register of his voice changed from rougher to softer as he looked down at the floor and then back up at Ina’s face.
“Be honest, did I do anything to offend you or make you mad at me?”
His softer side was almost harder to withstand and his eyes seemed to penetrate her very being, seeking out the secrets she kept hidden in her heart. She shook it off with another nervous chuckle,
“No, no, this was 100% me. I’ve been so nervous about these love making shoots. Chuck’s is telling everyone back in Hollywood this is the first the first film with a sex scene - “
“Isn’t it?”
“Well, I mean, since the production code, maybe, but they’ve shot plenty of them. It’s just that the studio always pulls out at that last minute -”
Ina covered her mouth and gasped when she watched Elvis’ lip curl up at her words but said nothing. He didn’t need to. The glint in his eye said it all and when he waggled his eyebrows up and down Ina laughed out. She was grateful for the levity, it seemed to crack through Elvis’ cool bravada and made this conversation easier.
“Stop, you know what I mean.”
She blushed, and looked out her window, watching as the silhouettes of two people walked by. It was getting dark, she needed to wrap it up.
“But yes, today I was nervous, I haven’t been eating or sleeping much, but I promise you - “
Her voice wavered as she turned back to find his steady gaze.
“ - um - no more fights, no more difficult behavior. I am so grateful for this opportunity to work with you and I just hope you can forgive me for my lapse of judgment.”
Elvis stood up, his fingers were once more busy fiddling with his cowboy hat and he spoke in a low whisper.
“Ok. I forgive you. So long as you really ain’t mad at me.”
The breath hitched in Ina’s throat when Elvis looked up at her, biting his lip in a way that made the top jut out a bit as he searched her face once more, as if she were a puzzle he needed to solve.
She gulped. “I - uh - I - no, I just need some sleep - I “
“Honey I can’t help feeling like you’re holding something back here, and if we’re gonna get along, I need you to be completely honest with me.”
Ina looked away. Damn him, he was like one of those fortune tellers back on Coney Island who she had believed as a kid. As a teenager she had learned the truth: they had no supernatural talents, they were just extremely gifted at reading their marks. Like Elvis was reading her right now.
“Oh, I may have been upset about something but it doesn’t matter, it was silly and stupid, like me. I - I was wrong, and I apologize. I’ll happily apologize to you in front of the whole crew tomorrow if you want. Really. If that is what it will take to make amends with you Mr. Presley.”
Elvis clenched his fists.
“I don’t give a damn about a public apology or the crew or any of that. But I can’t bear it when a woman is sore at me and won’t say why. Ticks me off to no end.”
Tension hung in the air, and Ina sighed. Recounting the whole ordeal made it seem so juvenile now, though it still stung.
“I - I am, I heard some of your friends talking. They -”
“Which friends?”
“Jerry, Jerry and Charlie. I told you, it’s like high school and I can’t believe I let them upset me.”
“Well now you started, better lay it all out for me. Go on.”
“I - I well, I heard them laughing about how you had said I looked like - like drag queen that needed a shave. And they were calling me Groucho and saying I had big feet.”
Ina let her shoulders drop and forced a smile, but she couldn’t stop her hand from pulling on the necklace at her chest.
“Ha, actually now that I say it is kind of funny, you see I - um - I usually have a great sense of humor. Any of my friends would tell you. Some of them are drag queens, actually. They’d probably feel more slighted being compared to me. Your boys just, they - they just caught me right before I was filming my first nude scene and well - “
Ina’s voice trailed off as she watched Elvis get up and pace towards the bathroom growling.
“Those fucking nitwits, pulling a stunt like that and gummin up tha works -” he turned and his face fell at the pained look on Ina’s face. “You know I never said nothin’ like that.”
Ina quickly shook her head, summoning the calm veneer that usually came so easy to her. She immediately regretted telling Elvis, now she felt as raw as she did after she had a full waxing appointment at the salon.
In her heart she knew he was lying, she knew from the way he had grimaced, albeit it briefly, on set when she’d said she wasn’t a drag queen.
Yet there was something earnest and pleading in his eyes that made her question her own grip on reality. This got worse when he bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling, all vulnerable and apologetic, as if searching for the right thing to say. It made her stomach flip up into her throat. Then looked at her, his eyes wide with a newfound warmth as he sought a connection from across the room, as if he were seeing her for the first time. Ina knew right then that she needed to get him out before anything changed.
“Oh, yeah, sure, I know. And, well it doesn’t matter anyway, right? I mean it’s none of my business what you think of me - like I said, I knew some knockout drag queens, so it’s a compliment really. Ha so - “
Elvis stode over as she spoke and grabbed her hands, his thumb delicately soothing the top of her knuckles. The spicy smell of his aftershave entered her nostrils as he spoke in a low, soft voice.
“Here’s the thing now, Iny Beany, I just need you to know though that I didn’t say none a that. Ya right, them boys still in high school, and they been playing pranks like we’re still in high school. I guar-an-TEE you they knew the assistant had just called for you, and they set that whole thing up to ruin my first sex scene shoot. Have half a mind to fire 'em. They need to learn some goddamn respect."
Ina found herself transfixed, unable to step away or pull her hands from his. She looked him over. He somehow looked like a cowboy who had let a bunch of drag queens dress him.
He wore a fresh pair of dark green slacks, a thick leather belt and a long sleeve white linen shirt. Over his hands sat several jewel-encrusted rings matched by the two necklaces that lay underneath his red bandana, tied much like a silk ascot through a cravat. His foundation make-up was impeccable, and his hair was styled in a high quiff perfectly slicked back above his forehead. It made him look cavalier and polished at the same time.
Then there was the way his smokey eye makeup was now smudged around his waterline made him look even more ruggedly attractive. Sweat glistened underneath his beard, almost like glitter. There, in the dim light of her motel room he looked like the prettiest cowboy she had ever seen.
“Know what I mean?”
Ina shook her head, realizing she’d gotten caught up staring at his scruffy chin and lost track of what he was saying.
“Um, I’m sorry, what did you say?”
A sly grin tweaked up the corners of his lips.
“I said, you cain’t listen to a word outta those boys' moufs, ‘specially Charlie. His elevator don’t go all the way up, if you take my meaning.”
Elvis stepped in closer to her, cautiously, waiting to see if she stepped away or flinched. But it was all Ina could do to just keep breathing, each stroke of Elvis' thumb over her hand now sent a bolt of electricity down her chest.
“How I could I say something like that about you, Iny? Ya so beautiful, I could barely look at you too long before turning into mush.”
Ina rolled her eyes, but she could feel her own resolve waver as his hand moved to her hips and a blush crept over her face.
“Stop, you don’t have to lie to me.”
He shook his head, his nose tickling over hers.
“How can you say that Iny Meany? You have no idea, no idea what you do to me.”
Ina’s heart skipped a beat when she felt his thumb at the indent of her girdle. The air between their bodies seemed to crackle now with heat, and he pulled her closer, nuzzling his nose over hers. A tear rolled down her face and he lifted his finger to catch it.
“Ssshhhh, s’ok baby, s’ok. I got you. And I promise ain’t no one gonna talk like that about you again.”
He pressed his cheek against hers and she pushed back,willfully embracing the harsh scruff of his beard. She could feel herself teetering on the precipice of something dangerous. If she crossed this line with Elvis it would change the dynamic of their work together, it would change her reputation. She had vowed to herself she wouldn’t be susceptible to his charms, him, of all people. He was so obvious, so cliche. And yet here she was, nuzzling her nose back along his.
Emboldened, Elvis gently pressed his lips to her skin, peppering her jaw with light kisses. Ina eagerly moved to give him access to her neck and he instantly took the hint and suckled at her nape, pausing to grin as she moaned out a high, breathy unladylike moan.
Her chest heaved as their lips met and the faint aroma of mustard filled Ina’s nostrils.
“Oh my god, you taste like hamburger.”
Elvis chuckled, unsure of himself for a moment. Ina enjoyed watching him become self conscious.
"I’m sorry baby, you want me to go brush my teeth?”
She shook her head, pulling him closer and speaking between kisses.
“No - mmmm - it’s amazing — mmm - haven’t had a mmamburger in months.”
Elvis let out a nervous laugh.
“Ok, ya kook, I’ll be sure and eat hamburger every day.”
"Ha! I'm gonna hold you to that, Presley."
His fingers brushed over her thighs as he lifted her onto the dresser and Ina trembled.
“You ok? Just say the word, and I’ll stop.”
She shook her head, stopping was the last thing on her mind. Though she suddenly thought of crew members at the pool who’d seen her call Elvis into her room to apologize.
“I wonder what everyone outside thinks we’re doing in here.”
“Hmmm, whatever they’re thinking, I guarantee it's not nearly as good as what I’m thinking.”
“Elvis - I - I don’t want to have sex.”
He arched his eyebrow.
“Whoo now, who said anything about sex?”
“I mean, of course I want to have sex with you.”
He stoked her thighs, a faint smile on his face.
"Relax Iny, we’re just having some fun. Don’t overthink it. We ain’t gonna do nothin’ you don’t wanna do.”
Ina released a nervous giggle. “OK, you see, I um, well, actually the thing is that I sometimes break out when I - I do it.”
“Really? You know that Max Factor stuff will cover anything.”
“Ha! I know - I just think tonight, no matter what I say later, we should just keep it simple.”
“I gotcha Iny girl. Sweet. Simple.”
Ina’s pulse quickened at the way he leaned into her chest, his hands worked up from her thighs. She felt like a giddy teenager as she smiled gleefully into his face, her right hand fiddling with his ear.
“You have a great earlobe, you know that? I can see why you’re a movie star.”
“Huh. That right? Cuz of my earlobe?”
He leaned in and kissed the top of her nose.
“Oh yeah, it's very photogenic. I see why this is the only part of you in frame during the sex scene. I mean the rest could as ugly as Boris Karloff -” Ina waved her other hand in front of Elvis face. “But this lobe, right here, it’s a million dollar lobe.”
Elvis chuckled. “That right?”
“Uh huh. I hope you have it insured - oh god.”
Elvis' right hand moved over her breast, flicking her nipple.
“Hmm, well, maybe I should stop whateva this is and go call the colonel, get him right on that, uh huh.”
He moved as if to leave, smirking at how quickly Ina pulled him back into her arms.
“Don’t go.”
She squeaked out, voice cracking.
“You sure? You don want me to fetch a rattlesnake to kiss instead? See if you like making love to his earlobe?”
“Stop.”
Ina swatted him, straightening the line of his bandana.
“Please don’t repeat what I said earlier, I was tired and nervous and upset and I hate myself for that whole scene. I really am sorry, Presley.”
“I know, baby, I know. I'm just teasing.”
He pressed his lip son hers once more and Ina rocked forward into him, following the slow, tender rhythm of Elvis’ body. She felt like a buoy, still unmoored and adrift in the ocean, but now she didn’t want to come into shore. She wanted to stay like this, swaying back and forth to the ebb of Elvis’ tide, delighting in the wet smack of Elvis’ lips every time they smashed into hers. Again and again.
Her whole body buzzed when his fingers trailed down to her hem and absentmindedly began to work their way under her dress. He had notched himself between her legs, fitting snugly against her knee caps. She made a small squeak of surrender as she opened her hips to bring him in closer. The taste of onions and pepsi and meat filled her mouth as he took her with the tip of his tongue, slowly owning and consuming her completely.
Elvis moaned into her and deepened their kiss.
Ina lost herself in the sweet supple cushion of his lips. His hands moved over her bosom, fanning the spark in her belly into a flame. Then his fingers moved under her skirt and feathered over the warmth of her panties. Ina felt the bulge begin to swell at her thigh and then Elvis jerked back.
Every cell in her body cried out to pull him back into her embrace and then until he was inside her and they were melting into each other. Vows and boundaries be damned. Thank god he had some sense of self control.
“Whooa, whoa whoa.” He muttered slowly, almost painfully.
Ina nodded, licking her lips as she met his eyes.
“You ok?’
“Yeah, you?”
Elvis took a deep breath. “Course, honey, I - I - I just think we better put the breaks on for tonight.”
“Yeah, sure, no. Totally. This was exactly what I wanted.”
He wiped his mouth, shooting her an impish smile, like he knew exactly what she wanted.
“Guess I should clear out, huh?”
“You don’t have to leave, I mean, I enjoy your company. Is what I mean. But if you are looking to get lucky, then yes, I suppose you should find one of those extras you've been playing patty cake with.”
“Huh, okay, well I'll be on my way then. Catch ya later.”
But he didn't move, just stayed there hovering above her. His forehead leaning into her as he pushed in even closer, pressing the air out of her lungs.
“You do have a reputation to keep up. I understand.”
"Mhmmmm."
Elvis shook his head and went to sit on her bed, up against the head board.
“Look, I'm willing to put my reputation aside, jus for one night. I promise, no funny business. Clothes stay on.”
He smirked.
“Unless you’d feel more comfortable without your dress on.”
Ina hesitantly moved to perch next to him. She could still taste the mix of Elvis’ salty sweat on her tongue as she wiped her raw lips.
“That’s awfully accommodating of you, Presley.”
“What can I say, Iny Beany, I’m an open minded guy. Always say, if a girl wants to take her own dress off, who am I to say she can’t?’
“Well, if it’s all the same to you I think I’ll keep mine on. For now. There’s still time for you to make an exit.”
“Aw, now shut up with that exit junk already and get in here.”
Elvis pulled Ina down into the curve of his arm, and she sighed, embracing the cozy warmth of his body and rubbing her hand over the trim stretch of his stomach as he spoke to her in a soft, friendly voice.
"Alright now, I want you to tell me everything there is to know about you. How did the hell you end up in a god forsaken Elvis Presley picture, huh?”
“Hmmm, poor life choices? But Elvis, I thought you liked this film? I thought you were the one who made it happen.”
“Aw, well, sure, the first script was pret-tee fantastic. It was gritty and had guts, ya know, but then these damn producers been wittlin' it away to nothing, man. Chuck cornered me this afternoon once you'd left and started in on nagging me to sing the title song.”
“You don’t want to sing? Just the title? it would be so good.”
“So you like the way I sing, Iny?”
Elvis’ eyes danced but then he remembered what they were talking about and was solemn once more.
“Yeah, naw man, that would set it up as another Presley musical, the next they’ll be trying to get me to sing to my horse. No self respecting cowboy sings, you ever heard of a singing cowboy? Never seen John Wayne sing.”
“OK, sure, but what about Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Hank Williams was the Driftless Cowboy, right?”
Elvis leveled her with his blue eyes and pinched her side.
“Hmmm - guess you got me there. But it’s 1968, I’d like to see Gene Autry sell a movie in today’s economy. My boy my boy. Today it ain't no joke. Can you see him in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly?”
Ina tilted her head in agreement back onto Elvis' shoulder, she felt the same way she did sinking into a pair of comfy, worn-in slippers, and founding his chest as relaxed and welcoming,
“Trust me, I get it, I’m just grateful I don’t have to do a rape scene in this film.”
He squeezed Ina tighter, kissing her cheek.
“Yeah, me too, honey, real grateful. Boy. Don’t know why anyone want ta see that.”
“The old west ain’t what it used to be.”
“You can say that again.”
Elvis' arms closed around Ina tighter as they murmured the hours away, comparing diet pills, LA taco huts and favorite movies while their limbs easily intertwined into one another. The closest he got to undressing her was the moment around midnight when he stealthily undid her pony tail and played with her hair while she pretended to be miffed. Then he kissed her forehead and told her he had done her a favor, because it looked better this way, and she should just be a good girl and do as he said. Which got him a light slap and a big “HA!”
They spent the next hour enjoying a playful, cozy respite together in the dim orange glow of Ina’s hotel room. It was well past one in the morning when he gave her a parting kiss that turned into a series of parting kisses before he snuck back up to his suite.
Shooting began the next day at 7 a.m., and you could have knocked the director, Chuck, over with a long, pink gaudy boa feather as he found Elvis and Ina in good spirits ready to work. They exchanged playful barbs and their onscreen chemistry sizzled when they went through each sequence, pausing between takes for Ina’s chest to be spritzed while another batch of assistants dabbed Elvis’ forehead with dry unused coffee filters. The industry’s secret weapon against perspiration.
Elvis found Ina in her dressing room during a break and their lips met with stifled giggles as they kissed now with away from the ever present surveillance of the crew, laughing and talked into each other’s mouths.
“Oh my god, now you taste like bacon. I swear Elvis, you’re gonna have me off my diet and then I’ll swell up like a balloon and then Charro! will be a very different film about a cowboy and his pregnant saloon madam.”
“Baby, you gotta let yourself have one hamburger now and then, trust me now, I been doing this longer than you. It will help the cravings.”
Ina kept her mouth shut as she calculated that she had been in this business just as long as he had, since she began modelling at 15 in 1955.
“Ok. I give in. I have no willpower around you. I will have one hamburger this week.”
“Tonight, honey. Imma have you for dinner.” He winked. “Over for dinner, I mean. I’ll have one a my guys come get you and bring you up to my room later. ”
“Ok. Dinner. Tonight. Your room.” She grinned as she chased the taste of bacon on his tongue and the salty scent of his body as it enveloped her until a knock on the door brought them back into their roles on set as Jess and Tracy.
That night Elvis went through his usual routine after a shoot, which began with a shower to wash off the desert and the dust and the sweat of the set off his body. He took extra care in how he dressed, selecting a light blue dress shirt and a white suit, capping off his outfit with a small black porkpie hat. He doused himself in aftershave and the smell of Old Spice smacked Joe in the face when he came in to set up Elvis’ calls to Memphis and LA.
Once Elvis hung up his phone he leaned over and banged on the wall for Joe to come back in.
“You want me to get that sweet little Mexican gal boss? Alma?”
“Did I tell you to do that? That gal ain’t nothing but a big phony, naw man. Wait for me to tell you what to do, son."
Elvis stood up and went to slather more after shave on, exchanging one ring for another at his toiletry bag.
"Go down stairs and invite Ina up to join me for dinner.”
Joe let out a loud cackle. “What, Groucho?”
Elvis paused, taking in the look of disbelief on Joe’s face. His heart sank and he rubbed his hands over one another as he remembered how they all were howling at his jokes about her a few nights ago.
He hadn’t even really meant it. He’d just said those things after watching Alma and Flor look at Ina with envy during rehearsals. All he had wanted was to put them at ease, make them understand he was attracted to them. Saying what he thought they wanted to hear. But then the boys had chimed in and now they all thought she was a dog.
Elvis forced a low chuckle and ran his hand through his hair.
“Nah, man, not Ina - I meant Flor. Goddamn it, this picture messin’ with my head.”
He swallowed hard, thinking of the way Ina's beautiful big brown eyes looking up at him. They their legs had seemed to fit together, the way conversation had seemed to flow effortlessly. He smiled to himself thinking of the way she had blushed when he snuck into her dressing room. How her breasts had felt beneath as they ran their love scenes. He pushed away the pang of guilt for now and tamped down his desire to hold her once more. Maybe he'd sneak down to her room later if he could get away. But for now he had an image uphold. These guys looked up to him, and his control over them as their boss rested on the how cool they thought he was.
He snapped his finger at Joe.
“But I don’t wanna hear y’all calling her that no more. Tell the others. Like I said this morning, y’all shitwads talking like that is what got me in trouble in the first place.”
And with that, Elvis spent another night surrounded by people and utterly alone.
I don't really think I did Ina justice here, look at how great they looked together. We were robbed of their sex scenes.....
Summary: It has been a long eight weeks in Las Vegas, but it looks like Elvis and Midge only have a few days left together before he goes onward to Memphis and she heads back to LA. In the meantime, they enjoy their last few days together and help Joe celebrate his marriage.
Warnings: Blow job, historical era sexism and a newly pregnant women getting drunk (it's 1962, and unfortunately they did not research the effects of smoking/drinking on fetuses til the 1970s, and weren't really warning women til the 1980s. But also fairly innocuous and the child turned out fine in real life and in this fic).
Late night fan fic witching hour. I tried to write this in an hour for @whositmcwhatsit's birthday but then here were are two weeks later and I don't know what happened? I do know she read two drafts this week and dramatic improved what ever this chapter is. Thanks Jade for alpha-ing and yes, let's just consider this my gift to you and everyone for the happy occasion of May 16.
Thanks to my harem who helps me think and write and makes life fun, @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @shakerattlescroll @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows
oh and sorry to @be-my-ally to be marrying off Joe, though I am sure he would make an exception to his marriage vows for you if you asked nicely and didn't try to sleep with Elvis once he brought you to the party.
Playlist of music either just newly released at the time or relevant to the mood/events of the chapter.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: Midge has settled into a comfortable routine at her sister's house, helping with the kids, watching soap operas, working on her dream of making it as a writer. But enough is enough, domestic bliss is a drag and so she sets out to make her own plans for leaving her sister's house with or without Elvis.
Thanks to @whositmcwhatsit my gifted alpha for reading earlier drafts, helping me with story and editing and everything else.
No warnings - pretty tame. Playlist soundtrack ;)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
