Edge of Reality [Elvis]

1954 - The Mysterious Girl in Pink

Hello, everyone! Here's my next Elvis story! This one came to me literally two days before writing up this chapter and is a little step away from what I usually do. I thought it would be a fun, almost eerie, storyline. And, yes, I based it off of Elvis's song of the same name (so I don't own the name or song). I've always thought the song sounded a bit spooky. I will probably take elements of the movie that the song is in - "Live a Little, Love a Little" - as well. Enjoy!

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A flash of pink caught the corner of my vision. What was that? It looked like a girl wearing a dress. I couldn't see, though, since it was so quick. My brows creased as I tried to figure it out.

"Elvis!" someone shouted and slapped a hand on my left shoulder. I nearly jumped out of my white loafers, and my heart jolted, resulting in it banging my chest constantly. I looked over and saw my new pal Scotty Moore standing there. I had only just met him that afternoon after Sam Phillips, the guy who owned Sun Records, the studio we were in, wanted me to do a session with another guitarist and a bassist. So far, we hadn't been doing very well, according to all those in the studio, especially Mrs. Keisker, a lady who worked with Sam. She had said I could sing well, but she was most likely making me feel better since everyone else said otherwise. She seemed like a nice gal, though.

"Wow-wee, Scotty, don't do that." I clutched my guitar as we stood in the studio late at night, around nine.

"Sorry, buddy. You look as pale as a ghost."

"Yeah, because I think I just saw one. Or... maybe I'm just losin' my mind from all the singin' and playin' today."

"It being ninety degrees in here doesn't help, either." He wiped his dripping brow with the back of his hand as he held his own guitar. "It would be nice to have an air conditioning unit."

"You're tellin' me." I wiped my own brow. "Yeah, maybe you're right. It's too hot, and we've been workin' for hours." I let out a sigh in slight frustration, and I felt a little disheartened. "I really don't know what to do anymore, Scotty. Everyone's sayin' I can't sing. I have no hope of becomin' a singer like I wanna be."

Scotty's eyes turned sympathetic, and he took my shoulder again, but shook it in reassurance. "Hey, you just have a unique style of singing that people aren't used to yet."

I smirked, lifting up the top left of my lip—something I had always been self-conscious about. "Yeah, maybe."

We went more into the studio. Our other new pal, Billy Black, stood there dinking around on his stand-up bass. I met him the same time as Scotty. He looked up at us with his brown eyes.

"Hey, guys, you ready to head out?" he asked.

"How 'bout one more number?" I suggested.

"Sam wants us outta here, though, so he can lock up. Plus, according to him, we haven't been progressing all that well."

"Just one more," I prodded and cradled my guitar. I went and stood near the microphone, and about started singing, but I saw another flash of pink, and this time, it flashed across the doorway leading out to the entry area of the studio. My mouth dropped open. Yes, I definitely saw that. That was a real flash of pink.

"Elvis?" asked Scotty, noticing my expression. "What's going on?"

"Hold on, fellas," I told them then went out of the room, and to my right was the little recording room where Mrs. Keisker was talking with Sam. He was a man around thirty with dark brown hair like Billy. Mrs. Keisker was a woman older than him by five years or more and had blonde hair up in a twist, and she had on a blue dress, not pink. They both looked over at me as Mrs. Keisker sat in a chair and Sam leaned against a counter.