All stories, good or bad, begin at the right place. In 1956, during an Elvis concert, a girl's proposal turns chaotic when three of her boyfriend's other lovers are also present. Amid the turmoil, she catches Elvis' eye, igniting a flame that sparks...
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* chapter music * _____________________________
This chapter includes one belonging soundtrack announced farther into the chapter. The chapter is written with this song in mind—setting the mood. However, it's quite the distracting soundtrack and might be too much to read while listening. In that case, the song is worth giving a listen and read separately.
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Rosalie POV
The 10th of May, 1957
From handing out coffee at the end of last year's summer to now seeing ink spilling over written articles, Patty and I wrote by a mess of a table. A table that had become a close pal and companion under late-night stress.
Having more than one companion—Jenna accompanied us by the old armchair in the corner as we were about to wrap up for the day. To hide Patty's sweet lipstick kiss from prying eyes, Jenna wiped her rounded cheeks with giggles escaping Patty. Instead of the front door's breeze keeping secrets at bay, the modest conference rooms and their glass walls with thick frosted stripes were taking on that role. We didn't need to count on the temperature to give us a sign to keep quiet; we only needed a key and putting on an act. Well, and look out for moving shadows passing by.
The last few weeks had been hectic, thanks to the generous check from The Colonel. It had opened up the gates to join in on short articles here and there, but recently we had gotten bigger workloads.
Speaking of gates, I got to write the article featuring Elvis's new Musical Gates being installed at Graceland on the 22nd of April. They looked like they could have been the backdrop of his stage, with the priding hefty-looking notes and what I believed to be the frame of a guitar playing Elvis', taller than any human could have grown. With their steel material, they only needed a lit-up neon-colored light to be as flashy as the streets of Vegas.
Flashy—was also how Elvis described the debut of his golden suit that the Colonel got designed for him. I didn't need more than a second of Elvis' time to see and hear how he disagreed with his manager's view of it being a spectacular sight. He felt foolish. Corny even, he said. Too posh. And—it was heavy. Real gold. It was called lamé, where thin metallic ribbons covered strings of yarn. Elvis was the Colonel's golden egg—I mean, golden boy and the suit told no subtle tale of that indication.
Elvis had no wish to be troublesome when he could help it, so when the designer of his Loving You costumes got hired to make him the suit, he went along with it just like he did with the Teddy Bears—too humble and pleasing for his own good some days. I wouldn't be surprised if I soon would see him in a walking bear costume dressed in gold—following a man that got higher on himself than any of his trapeze friends from his days working at the circus. For how much I dreaded the Colonel's presence last summer, a part of me found the man hilarious—slapping the prize of $10,000 at the suit costing $2,500 just to add to the gimmick of it all.
