It's Up To You

Chapter 8

Ricky and I paced through the airport terminal halls. People bustled past us as I held the handle to my blue suitcase. Ricky slowed down as a group of TWA flight attendants began passing by. He lowered his dark sunglasses on his nose to get a better look at them.

"Will you come on?" I spat at him. Ricky picked up speed and began walking next to me once again. "I've got to be somewhere so we need to head to the hotel and check in as soon as possible."

"You didn't come here to sing, did you?" Ricky stopped us both.

"What?" I squinted at him.

"There's some other reason we're here, I feel it." Ricky announced to me. I rolled my eyes and began walking forward.

"I've been watching you through the crack of your door for a long time, I know you're not a true singer." Ricky tried to keep up at me. Then, he cut me off and stood in front of me. "Come on! Tell me I'm right!"

"That makes you a psychopath, not right." I snapped at him, then walked around him.

"Well if you came all the way down here for an audition, what's the studio? Where'd you find out about it?" Ricky asked me with risen eyebrows.

"I don't need to answer to you." I mumbled to him, then we both exited outside.

"Well I think I deserve answers when you brought us all the way to Tennessee for some obscure reason!" Ricky shouted at me. Suddenly, we were interrupted by a man calling out my name. When we looked, he had my name written on a card.

"Lauren for Presley?" He called out. "Lauren for Presley..."

"So that's why you dragged us here." Ricky mumbled. "You wanted to frolic around with Mr. Elvis Pelvis."

"And so what if I did? It's none of your business." I mumbled.

"Well I'm not heading anywhere with that guy and dad told me to look after you!" Ricky shouted at me.

"Oh now you want to look after me!" I exclaimed. Our conversation was cut short when a teenage girl standing next to us suddenly began to hyperventilate.

"Is that...? Is that Ricky Nelson?" She choked out as her knees began buckling. "Oh I just love you!"

"No, it's not me." Ricky answered, holding up a hand and adjusting his dark sunglasses.

"It's not me? You just gave yourself away." I snared at him.

"Alright, alright, just get in the car!" The man holding my name card told us. The chauffeur opened the car door and both Ricky and I threw our suitcases in and got in the backseat. It was tight back there, my knees bent up in an uncomfortable position and Ricky's long legs tangled next to mine. His sunglasses were now off since he was in the safety of the car. His suitcase was wedged between him and the door, my suitcase was on my lap.

"I'm not sure Mr. Presley expected the company of... your friend." The chauffeur announced from the steering wheel as he drove us. "I was only told of a girl named Lauren coming."

"Well I didn't expect to be dragged here either." Ricky said, then I jabbed my elbow into his rib cage.

"Ricky was unexpectedly added on to the trip, I hope that's not a problem." I called out to the chauffeur.

"I can ask Mr. Presley if he would be willing to allow Mr. Nelson to stay at his Graceland Estate." The chauffeur nodded.

"Oh, it's definitely a problem. I'm not answering to stinking Elvis Presley. You're gonna have to drop me off somewhere." Ricky argued.

"Where?" I asked him with a risen eyebrow.

"Well, we were supposed to stay in a hotel, why not drop me there?" Ricky asked.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Presley gave strict directions to make no stops en route to the Estate." The chauffeur told us.

"You need to just face him." I angrily glared at Ricky.

"Over my dead body." Ricky lifted his chin, the sunlight hitting his blue eyes. "There's no way I'm looking at that bastard's face."

"Then what do you want to do?" I asked him.

"I want you to drop me off." Ricky repeated himself even louder.

A few minutes later, the car came to a complete halt at a random street corner. I stretched my body over Ricky and opened the door on his side. Then, I kicked the suitcase next to him out onto the sidewalk.

"You can't be serious!" Ricky shouted. "Where will I go?"

"Find a hotel." I told him. "You want to act like a 'man' and stand your ground by not talking to Elvis, then you find a hotel like a man."

"How will I contact you?" Ricky poked his head into the car.

"Here's a card with Mr. Presley's contact information." The chauffeur handed Ricky a small card. "That has all the information you need for getting in touch with... excuse me, what's your surname?"

"Johnson. I'm Lauren Lynn Johnson." I smiled at him, then I looked to Ricky. He stood there with a furious expression on his face, then slammed the door shut.

After a long drive, we arrived on a quiet street with a beautiful ornate gate. On it were music notes and two Elvis Presley silhouettes. It looked just like the magazines.

After they opened, the car rolled along the driveway until we were in front of the house. The grey brick house was large with four columns along the opulent facade of the house. The shutters to the multiple windows were green, and the house itself looked like something out of a Greek palace.

A tall man in a grey sweater and white slacks began walking out of the house and toward us. I smiled, looking at the dark hair and light eyes.

Once the car came to a stop, the guy came over and looked into the car. Elvis Presley flashed me a smile.

"Welcome to Graceland." He said smoothly to me.