Cat in a Jeweled Jumpsuit (23 page)

“
I'm
hoping,
honey." She winked.

Matt wasn't hoping for another visitation from the
Tabloid Twilight Zone, but he was prepared if it came.
He'd not only read a lot of books about Elvis, but he'd
made notes. Maybe he could trip the King up. Prove him
the fraud he needed to be revealed as, in order to come
to
terms with himself. His real self.

This was Matt's show, after all, and he wasn't here to
be made a fool of. He grinned at the shakiness of that
assertion. Anyone who stuck their neck out with a live
call-in show like this was in imminent danger of public
folly.

But
no tin-star Elvis was going to be his downfall....

Of course, the worst nightmare for a live call-in show
was
not a bizarre guest. It was the absence of any callers.
Leticia had been known to assume other voices and call
in herself,
if need be.

That
wasn't necessary tonight. Calls came pouring in,
including three referring to the previous night's Elvis
sounding (as opposed to sighting). Two callers were
irate
that the station would use such
a blatant gimmick to
hype the new
Elvis attraction in town. One caller wanted
to know if Elvis had been in
the studio for the interview.

“
It wasn't a live interview, no," Matt said,
tongue
deeply in cheek. "He called in just like you did."

“
Oh, wow," the woman said. She sounded too
mature to be making this call or saying "wow." "Then he could
be
dead too."

“You're
claiming to be dead?"

“
No! I meant, it could have been a voice from the
grave."

“
In that case, I'm very glad it wasn't an in-person
interview."

“
It's not
a gimmick, like that man said before, is it?"
"If it is,
it's not a gimmick that's originating here at
WCOO. We were as surprised as
anybody."

“
Too bad you didn't have
an expert witness there
when he
called. Someone who knew Elvis, who could
say if it was really
him."

“
I'm
afraid I was pretty much alone here, except for
a technician and my
producer, and we're all too young
to have heard much of Elvis."

“
Hey, everybody's heard of Elvis. My little niece, she does the cutest
version of 'Teddy Bear.' She could come
in and do it on the air. Or, over the phone ... Brianna,
honey,
come to auntie—"

“
No, uh, thanks. I just do counseling, not auditions."
"Well, what if Elvis wanted to sing on your
stupid
show?"

“
I don't know. I imagine"—he glanced at Leticia's
eager face
through the glass that reflected his distinctly
uneager face—"that he would sing if he wanted to. We
don't catch too many live performances of his nowa
days.”

The
caller was gone, disconnected before adorable
little Brianna
could toddle to the phone to lisp her way
through anything of a musical nature.

Matt had
time for one deep breath of relief before
another voice boomed into his ear.

“You this here Mr.
Midnight?"

“That's right. What can I
help you with?"

“
It's me that can help you, buddy. Lots of us remem
ber Elvis real well. We can tell a fake five miles
off.
That guy who called you, he was a piker. I'd know Elvis
anywhere."

“A rabid fan, huh?"

“A rabbit what? I'm no
rabbit!"

“I meant that you're an
expert on the King."

“
Oh, yeah. That's mah era. Cherry Cokes and unfil
tered cancer
sticks rolled up in your T-shirt sleeve. Man,
either
one of 'em would sear the rust off a tailpipe. I can
tell you right now:
that weren't Elvis last night. No way. You've been took in, or you're trying to
take us in."

“
No, sir, we're not. That call was totally unexpected. But it's good to
know that expert listeners out there are
keeping us from being
bamboozled by phonies."

“Right. Happy to help out. I
guess this is one time the counselor needed counseling."

“
You've got that right,
brother," Matt said fervently.
As an Elvis-detector, he was a
King-sized bust.

To his relief, the next caller was a disgruntled in-law
who
disapproved of how the newlyweds had spent their
wedding money. This was a snap; as a parish priest, Matt
had handled every conceivable pre- and postnuptual
problem that three hundred-some unions could produce.

He glanced at the big school clock on the wall. Only five
minutes to final commercials and no Elvis. Leticia
was looking deflated, but Matt was feeling even more
relieved. Mr. Show Biz he'd never be, if laying yourself
open to every nut who could punch in a phone number
was
part of the job description. Give him ordinary people
with dull, ordinary problems, superstardom and self-
destruction
not among them.

“Um,
Mr. M-m-midnight?”

Matt's muscles seized up as if he had turned into an
instant
corpse.

“Are,
uh, you there, sir?”

Leticia had come alive like a football fan whose team had
just scored two points by running over the goal line
from a faked point-after position. Her smooth cappuc
cino features all tilted up, as if her head was a helium-
filled balloon that would lift her entire 300-pound body
out
of her chair.

Matt had become enough of a media personality to
realize that the sight of such an ecstatic producer was
nothing
to trifle with. He surrendered to show biz.

“Yes,
I'm here. You wouldn't be Elvis again?"

“
Well, sir, that's kind of a funny way of puttin'
it.
I've always been Elvis, so I
don't have to be him again,
if you get
my drift. Once has been enough, let me tell
you."

“You
had a lot of good times."

“
Oh, yeah. But before and
after . . . they weren't so
hot. You know, a
guy gets to thinkin' when he's all
alone—"

“
Are you all alone, Elvis?"

“
Guess
so. Ain't seen nobody around lately. 'Course,
they know enough
to leave me alone when I want to be
alone, and to be there for me when I want 'em to."

“
Sounds handy. Like a light switch."

“What
do you know about my flashlight?”

Matt
hadn't been referring to a flashlight, but he re
called a famous
photo of Elvis carrying one like a baton.
"Oh, saw some
photographs of you with one dangling
from your wrist. That would be in the
seventies, wasn't
it?"

“
Uh, yeah. Sounds right."

“Why
did you carry that flashlight, Elvis?"

“
Well, I
got eye problems. One-eye problem, I guess.
Had to wear dark
glasses. And I liked to know what was
going on. Out there, in the dark."

“
You were being vigilant."

“Yeah.
That's it."

“
You
were something of a lawman, in a way, weren't
you?"

“
Hey, you musta been a fan, Mr. Midnight, is that
right?"

“
I guess everybody was your fan."

“
Not
ever'body. I had my naysayers. You can't do
anything unusual
in the world without naysayers. But I could handle that. Hell, I had 'em in
high school; didn't
like me wearin' my hair long or dressing like I did,
wanted
to beat me up. They weren't gonna beat me up
when I had law
enforcement badges from almost every place in the country. Even one I got from
drug enforce
ment, through President Nixon. He was very happy to
meet
me. I was a Jaycees Outstanding Young Man of
the Year in seventy
... one. Two? Somewhere in there.
Didya know that?"

“
I knew that, Elvis," Matt said soothingly.

The
caller seemed not to have heard him. "Naysayers.

Naysayers who sit in your own living room and then go
out and take money from some New York publisher to
make you look like a fool . . . make you look bad to your
little
girl . . . those kind are hard to take.”

Matt was silent for a moment too long. Dead air time
was the bane of talk shows. But the man had sounded
genuinely upset just then. Poor soul, did he really
believe
his own impersonation?

“
That
was rough," Matt said. "When those guys got
fired and wrote that tell-all book
about you. You got . pretty sick after that.”

Pretty sick? He had died only a couple of weeks after
the release of the scandalous
Elvis, What Happened?
book
in 1977.

“
Daddy done fired 'em. First definite thing my Daddy
ever did in his life, and it ended up
gettin' that awful
book written. I
talked to Red. He called, and I kinda
asked him to stop it, but he said
he couldn't. He even
tape-recorded me
without my knowin' and put that in
his
damn book! I couldn't believe one of my guys would
do that to me. Red was with me from high school.
Why'd
he do that, Mr. Midnight? Why?”

Matt glanced at the clock, pointed a forefinger at his
wrist so that Leticia couldn't miss it. She didn't. Past
one
A.M.
They were in overtime. But she just kept rolling
her fingers in the gesture that meant keep going. Ap
parently, to continue the football metaphor, they were
in sudden death overtime. Matt mentally scanned his
skimmed
reading material for the relevant response.

“
Well, Elvis, he was mad, and Red always had a hel
lacious temper. He couldn't believe he'd be fired
after
all those years with you, and
his cousin Sonny had been
fired too."

“
But to say those things in public, those private
things—"

“
You
were rough on the people around you. De
manded all their
time anytime you needed them."
"I had to! Good God, man, you don't know what a
performing schedule I was on, from the earliest
days
when me and my two band guys was
driving ourselves
around, doin' up to
three shows a day. Then later, it was
the
movies, and those are long, long hours. Then later
the tours. Colonel
kept me hoppin' with those two back-
to-back
Vegas shows a night, and road tours night after
night, week after week. It's a wonder I made it as long
as I
did."

“
As long as—how long,
Elvis, until—?" Matt thought
he had him.

The King sounded confused for the first time. His
words slurred slightly. "Until
I-I I
just wore out, and,
and
I I. . .
I
took some time off."

“
Nothing happened, did it?
Nothing bad?"