Wells Elvis & A Royal Visit

1. Auflage 2023
ISBN: 978-3-99131-900-9
Verlag: novum pro Verlag
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 182 Seiten

Elvis is back. And so are the laughs. Here are another 12 fictional stories about the chaotic lives of Elvis, his family, manager Colonel Parker and the Memphis Mafia who live with him at Graceland, written by the author of 'Elvis: The Siege of Graceland and Other Stories'. In this new collection Prince Charles visits Graceland to celebrate Burns Night; Elvis tries to salvage his career by breaking with his manager; a school is started for wannabe Elvis tribute acts; and President Nixon has to deal with a request for Elvis's head to be carved on Mount Rushmore, America's national memorial. Some stories are inspired by actual events, such as Elvis's secret trip to Scotland in search of Balmoral Castle shortbread biscuits, and how he recorded 'Heartbreak Hotel'.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Wells, Robert

Leseproben

1. A Royal Visit

“Aargh!” cries Elvis. His face is the spitting image of the famous painting called ‘The Scream’ as he looks down at the scales that tell him how much weight he has put on over Christmas.

“That’s ridiculous,” he declares. “They must be faulty.” In truth, if they were one of those old-fashioned machines that speak your weight, they would have been struck dumb.

He is so disgusted that he picks them up and hurls them out of the bathroom window without having opened it first and stomps off to find another set.

Luckily the scales and the shower of fragments of glass miss his wife Priscilla who is walking back from the stables having been out for a ride. She is not unduly concerned by the incident; she steps over the debris and continues on her way. It’s the sort of thing that happens every New Year’s Day when Elvis checks his weight, is horrified by what he sees, destroys the scales, and ends up having to go on a very strict diet. She calls it the Great Annual Shrink.

“Aargh!” She hears another scream. Yes, she thinks to herself, he’s realised the first set of scales didn’t lie.

The only problem is that every year it gets that little bit harder to lose weight because he believes that once Christmas is over, the pounds will fall away naturally as he resumes his normal diet and his routine cycle of concert tours, shows at the International in Las Vegas, and making movies.

And there is some truth in what he says, but how much easier would it be to diet, and how much healthier would he be, if he didn’t eat such huge meals in which almost everything is deep fried. Fresh green vegetables and salads are anathema to Elvis who has even got his grandmother Minnie Mae to start making him deep-fried chocolate bars, something he has learned from his Clan Presley kinfolk in Scotland. Priscilla reckons his daily calorie count must be akin to the Dow Jones Index.

Everybody loves Elvis and so they find it impossible to say no to him; they certainly won’t upset him by pointing out the blindingly obvious. Bernard Lansky runs the tape measure over him and never says a word even though he has been making Elvis’s outfits since his days at Sun; his personal physician Dr Nick would rather give him an enema than recommend a change in his diet, knowing how Elvis would react; and Minnie Mae is never happier than when she is dropping a big blob of hog’s grease on to the skillet and frying another helping of chitlins. Their laissez-faire benevolence can’t be good for his health.

But this year will be different and Priscilla needs to talk to Elvis as soon as possible. She believes that this time there is a compelling reason why Elvis will want to make an extra special effort to get in shape as soon as possible.

“Do you mind, honey, if I ask how much weight you’ve put on?” she inquires.

Elvis mumbles something, but Priscilla has excellent hearing.

“Oh, my word, that’s a lot,” she replies, resignedly shaking her head.

They are sitting on a sofa in the living room, with Elvis resting his feet on the glass-topped coffee table, as he explains that he cannot understand it, because all he had was just his regular Christmas fare, same as every year, no more and no less. He begins to list what he ate, but his wife says she can’t bear to hear it all, nor do they have the time.

There is a knock at the door and in walks Colonel Parker accompanied by a thick cloud of foul-smelling cigar smoke, followed by his assistant, Bubba, Minnie Mae, Dr Nick and Elvis’s closest friend and chief gofer, Charlie Hodge.

“I understand you have something very important that you want to tell us,” the Colonel says, easing himself into the largest available armchair. His vast bulk causes him to sink down with the result that his feet are lifted up off the carpet; he realises that he will eventually need help to stand up again.

Priscilla takes a couple of deep breaths as if she is preparing to sing an aria and announces: “We’re going to celebrate Burns Night here at Graceland.”

She looks at everyone to assess the impact of what she has said and everyone looks at each other, baffled, wondering what she is talking about.

“What exactly are we going to burn, honey?” smiles Elvis.

“Oh, Elvis, honestly! I expected better of you!” she exclaims. “You should know all about this sort of thing. After all, you’re Honorary Chief of Clan Presley and Laird of All the Glens of Prestwick.”

“Of course, I know,” bluffs Elvis. “It’s just my little joke.”

Priscilla explains that Burns Night is celebrated in Scotland and by Scottish people all around the world on January 25th to commemorate the birth of their national poet, Rabbie Burns. Next to Hogmanay it is the most important date in the calendar.

“Given Elvis’s position we owe it to his Scottish kinfolk to put on something really special,” she adds. “We’ve not done it before so it’s high time we did. It’s what they’d expect from their clan chief.”

“Ah’m jest a-sayin’ that the 25th ain’t so far away,” points out Minnie Mae. “Do tell us wut we’re a-gonna have ter do ter git things dun in time.”

“There’s no need to panic. I believe we can do it all here at Graceland. The meal is simple. The main thing to be served is a haggis.”

More puzzled looks from everyone else in the room.

“A haggis looks like a big fat sausage,” explains Priscilla. “And it comes with just mashed potatoes and swede.”

She hands over a recipe to Minnie Mae who quickly scans through it and declares: “A piece of cake!”

Priscilla says that she has already started making some of the arrangements, such as inviting the guests, the most important one being Her Majesty the Queen, news that brings loud gasps from everyone in the room, followed by a smattering of ‘wows’ and ‘gee whizzes’. After all, she was good enough to invite herself and Elvis to the Royal Highland Games last year and she thought she should return the compliment. Unfortunately, she and Elvis were unable to go because of a last-minute family commitment. Here she pauses to look daggers – or should it be dirks? – at the Colonel whom she blames for their non-attendance.

Meanwhile the Colonel, his face as round and red as a beef tomato, continues to sink lower into the armchair, his legs now sticking out at right angles, revealing a curious pair of socks decorated with pineapples. Nobody seems particularly bothered by his plight, including his assistant, Bubba, presumably because it is not an uncommon occurrence.

Priscilla sighs, “Sadly Her Majesty can’t make it, but she sends her best wishes.” Then her whole face lights up as she tells them: “Her son and heir Prince Charles will be coming in her place.” She claps her hands with delight.

“We couldn’t go to Scotland so now Scotland is coming to Graceland,” she declares, smiling at everyone, before adding that some of the prince’s staff will be arriving in a few days’ time to vet the arrangements. Apparently, it is standard practice before any royal visit.

She has also invited several well-known Scottish celebrities to the Burns Night celebrations at Graceland, including Sean Connery.

“Ah, we’ve been expecting you, Mr Bond,” interrupts Charlie, very pleased with his little joke.

But no one else laughs and Priscilla tells him, “Do you know what, Charlie, I bet he’s never heard that one before.” Charlie, suitably chastened, bows his head and examines the yellow dusters lodged in the pocket at the front of his floral-patterned pinafore.

“May I tactfully remind everyone that there’ll be a toupee at Burns Night – Sean Connery’s,” points out Bubba. “We need to make sure that Scatter is kept well out of harm’s way.”

(This is a reference to the occasion at a garden party at Graceland when Scatter, Elvis’s pet chimpanzee, grabbed Liberace’s toupee and ran off with it.)

“Good point. Dr Nick will make sure that damn monkey is anaesthetised, won’t you,” states Priscilla, with a steely glance in his direction. He nods his head enthusiastically.

“We haven’t heard much from Colonel Parker on the subject,” says Elvis, looking towards the corner of the room where his manager has sunk further into the depths of the armchair. All that can be seen of him is his head and shoulders and his legs which are now sticking up almost vertically in the air. His cigar, still clamped in his mouth, is sending up smoke like an ocean-going liner. Perhaps these are distress signals?

“The costs,” he manages to gurgle.

“We’ll get back to you on that,” declares Priscilla, briskly moving on to tell the meeting about the ceremonial aspects of Burns Night. First, there needs to be a piper who will play the bagpipes as the haggis is carried into the dining room on a silver charger. The piper will be Charlie Hodge.

“But I don’t know how to...