Elvis Lives

Chapter 1 - Wait, What Year Is It?

The whole room erupted in cheers as I ended the "King Creole" club sequence. My fingers stung from fiddling the guitar for the number. Boy, was I thankful towards Scotty Moore for playing that jamming guitar solo. I couldn't help but look back at him and give him a few "thank you" grins during the performance. He was the swell guy who played the guitarist in Jailhouse Rock.

The people in the club set still cheered and clapped, and I knew that they were instructed to do that by Mr. Michael Curtiz, our hard-working director, but I couldn't help but think that they really were thanking me and the band for that performance like the audience did after one of my songs in a concert. It was the same in a way. I was Elvis when I sing, even when I was supposed to be someone else behind the camera. I was in my element when I sing, so I couldn't help but be myself.

I walked off the stage as I was supposed to in the end of the take, after Michael shouted "Cut". I wasn't even down the stairs when Michael told me to walk back up on the stage again. I did so, and he shouted at me, "That was great! We're going to use that take!"

More shouts and cheers came from the extras, or the audience in the club. "Thank you very much," I said to him and to everyone. "And thanks to the band, too." Everyone clapped and cheered for them as they made a bow. "And special thanks to Scotty Moore." I indicated him. "How 'bout ya come out here, Scotty, huh?" Blushing, the young man of a few years older than me came out, holding his white guitar. I put an arm around his shoulders. "Let's give Scotty here a special round of applause for that guitar solo, huh?"

I started clapping, as did everyone else, and they cheered. Scotty let off a sheepish smile and waved. He and I became something of friends in the few years that we had known each other. He, as well as the rest of the band, had been through countless hours of rehearsals for this movie, and for Jailhouse Rock. We also played together before I became famous.

"Great job, buddy," I said to him and patted his back, then removed my arm.

"Thanks, but you were the vocalist."

"The vocalist doesn't sound right without the accompaniment, though."

We noticed that Michael came up to the stage, and the people in the audience started talking among themselves, as well as look up at us. Michael clapped me on the shoulder. "Another great performance, Elvis."

"Thanks, but like I just said, I would be nothin' without my backup singers and players."

"Indeed. I think that people will be watching this sequence, as well as the whole movie, a few decades from now."

I smiled, flattered, and held my guitar to me. "Aw, I don't know 'bout that."

"I agree," Scotty put in. "Actually, I think people will be watching your movies and listening to your music into the next century."

"I don't doubt it," agreed Michael. "Girls will still be screaming when you're seventy."

The thought that could still be famous into the 2000s made my head whirl. "C'mon, now..."

"I think that, too!" shouted a woman from the audience who was leaning against the stage, her dress bright red and very flattering. She was a blonde gal, and a really pretty one, too, around thirty. I noticed her glittering blue eyes. I smiled sheepishly, like Scotty had a minute ago, only for a whole different reason. I could sing in front of dozens of people, hundreds or thousands, even, but when faced with an especially pretty girl, I wanted to stick my head in the ground like that large bird since I felt like such a idiot, smiling nervously and stumbling over my words.