AUTHOR’S NOTE: When the restaurant Elvis Presley’s Memphis opened in 1997, it was a rebirth for the building of the old Lansky Brothers Clothing Emporium, the store where young Elvis bought his wild clothes. A coincidence? Probably, but Elvis folklore and fantasy have sprung from lesser origins. This interesting connection between the past and present was the spark for the following work of fiction.
Susan Markley left the motel room early, and her forty-one-year-old body bristled with the energy of a teenager. The calendar said it was 1982, but her mind was back in 1956 -- the year she became an Elvis fan for life.
This was such a great idea. Coming to Memphis and getting into Elvis big-time has been so good for me.
She had spent the previous day touring the mansion, the trophy building, the Lisa Marie jet airplane, and everything else at Graceland. For the first time in the two years since her husband’s death, Susan felt alive, vital.
Elvis, you’re good medicine for me, and I’m ready for a second dose. Today I’m gonna check out a bunch of other places in town that were part of your world.
Susan followed the well-planned route on her map and drove to Sun Records Studio. The tour didn’t take long, the whole enterprise was enclosed within a 18 x 30 building.
I can’t believe how small this place is. It’s amazing, so much important rock ‘n roll came from such a humble home.
Then she drove to Big River Records, reported to have the largest selection of Elvis albums anywhere. Susan hoped to find some Elvis music she did not already have in her vast collection. She asked the proprietor, “What do you call those unauthorized pirate recordings?”
“Bootlegs,” he replied.
“Yes, that’s it, bootlegs. Do you have any bootleg Elvis albums?”
He eyed her cautiously and asked, “You know bootlegs are illegal, don’t you?”
“They are? Oh my, that’s bad. But, you know, I’ve read somewhere that there are all sorts of Elvis bootlegs out, and I’ve never seen one. I was so hoping to get some different music that isn’t on the commercial recordings, you know what I mean. Don’t you have just one little bootleg album I could see, please.”
The man snorted softly. “Okay.” He reached under the counter and brought up a cardboard box of albums.
Susan’s face beamed. “Thank you so much. I appreciate this.”
She took her time going through them, asking questions. When she came to “The Burbank Sessions,” Susan knew her search was over. It contained music from the ’68 Comeback Special on TV, and on the cover, Elvis wore that famous hot black leather outfit. “The Burbank Sessions” was a double album, two discs containing thirty-eight songs. They were the complete audio recordings from the tapes which were edited down for the unplugged ‘pit’ session on the TV show.
The man cautioned her, “The value of that one probably won’t be going up. I’m sure RCA will release it all on CD someday.
Susan folded the cover shut. “I don’t care. This is the one I want. I love this cover picture of Elvis in the leather outfit he wore on that show. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better picture of him”
She traced her finger around the outline of his face and gushed like a teenager, “You're so bad, man, so bad.”
It was almost lunch-time when Susan left Big River Records. She headed to Taylor’s Restaurant, where Elvis had hung out with other budding young musicians. It was too hot out to leave her prized new album in the car, so she carried it inside in her tote-bag. She chose a large booth, opened up the album, and read every word of liner notes on the inside covers while she ate.
She left Taylor’s restaurant and drove to Lansky Brothers Clothing Emporium on Beale Street. Elvis had purchased flashy clothing there as a teenager and on into his adult life. The store seemed more upscale now, probably because of the resurgence of the whole street as a tourist destination. She walked around and felt compelled to buy something. A royal-blue sweat-suit caught her eye, so she took it from the rack and headed to the changing rooms.
She reached the door of the changing area, just as a young sales clerk emerged, followed by a woman about Susan’s age. As the woman passed her, Susan heard her mutter to herself, “This phone call better be important. And short. It’s just about the time I’m supposed to meet him.”
Susan noted the woman’s voice sounded much like her own, but let the thought pass as she entered a stall to change.
She had just finished changing into the sweat-suit, when she heard a strange sound in the next cubical . . . like a heavy door sliding open.
“Miss Marsha, are you there?“ a man’s voice from the next cubical said softly,
No one answered. Susan stood perfectly still and listened intently. That voice sounded sort-of like Elvis . . . coarser, maybe . . . or older.
The man said, “Miss Marsha, are you out there?”
Susan thought to herself, My gosh, that really does sound like Elvis. A strange tingle surged through her body. She reached for the stall door-knob, turned it very slowly and quietly, and stepped out in front of the stalls. The door made a small click when she closed it.
“Miss Marsha, is that you?”
“Yes, I had to take a call,” Susan lied.
“Oh, no problem,” the voice said. “Miss Marsha, I was hoping for another favor today, in addition to the groceries, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Susan kept her reply short to minimize the chance of detection. She noticed two sacks of groceries on the floor in front of the stall.
“Would you please go back into the store and get me a new belt. Maybe one of those white, webbed ones. And you’ll like this – size 34. All that fruit and low-fat soybean stuff you bought me is working out just like you said it would. My old belts could go around me twice, now.”
Susan’s eyes opened wide with delight at this news. “That’s great. I’ll be right back.” She rushed out and searched frantically for the belts. The other woman was still talking on the phone at the cash register, looking exasperated. Susan spotted a rack of belts and quickly found the requested white, size 34. She hurried back to the changing stall.
“Here we go,” Susan said. The door opened a crack, and a man’s hand came out. She placed the belt in the extended hand, but could see nothing else inside the cubicle.
“Thank you, thank you very much.” The hand pulled back and the door closed. “Miss Marsha, you changed your rings. Why was that?”
Susan froze. She didn’t know what to say. An uncomfortable silence engulfed the scene.
“You’re not Miss Marsha, are you?” the voice said.
“No, I’m Susan Markley from Charleston, South Carolina, and I’m in town on a pilgrimage to Graceland.” There was no reply from the stall. “When my husband died two years ago, I played Elvis music constantly to help me get over my grief. It was such a comfort to me.”
A few more moments of silence, and then the man cleared his throat and sighed. “Uh, well, that’s quite a nice thing to say.”
“It’s true.”
“So, you’re a big Elvis fan?”
“Oh yes, since I was fifteen. I thought he was the most beautiful man in the world. You wouldn’t believe how many Elvis 45’s and albums I’ve bought over the years. I even bought a bootleg, today.”
“Oh yeah, what’d you get?”
“The Burbank Sessions, from . . . “
“ . . . from the ’68 comeback special,” the voice finished for her. “Isn’t that the best picture on the cover? What a great shot of the lip thing . . . the sneer.”
“Yeah, but I like the hair best, perfectly mussed.”
Susan shook her head. I don’t believe how chummy this whole conversation is. It can’t really be him, can it? I mean, Elvis was . . . but then, it does sound like him . . . Oh, what the hell.
“Are you Elvis?”
The reply was immediate and firm. “Oh, no. I’m certainly not Elvis. No, No.”
“You sure sound like him.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. You sound like Miss Marsha, and you’re not her.”
“Well, I think I’ll still believe you are Elvis.”
“Darlin’, if believing that little piece of fiction gives you pleasure, go ahead. But how about keeping it a little secret just between you and me?”
“Oh, yes. I promise. I know you have your reasons, and I won’t mention this to anybody. But, who is Miss Marsha?”
“Marsha Lansky. She’s the daughter of my old friend Bernard. He and his brother Guy started this clothing store, and they provided me an apartment over this store where I could live in seclusion and peace. After they retired, Marsha continued to bring me groceries and anything else I needed.”
“You’re not going to let me see you, are you?” Susan asked.
“No, I can’t do that. In fact, I’ve got to go now.”
“Aw, heck.” Susan sensed she would not be able to change his mind. “Would you at least autograph my album before you go?”
“Okay.”
“Great,” said Susan, “it’s in the next booth. I’ll just be a sec.”
She quickly retrieved the album and placed it in the waiting hand. Bubbling with excitement, she chattered away. “You know what song I’m really looking forward to hearing on that album?” she asked. “It’s Tryin’ To Get To You. That’s what I call some really mean wailing. It’s way better than the original Sun recording.”
“What are you doing in here?” a female voice said behind her.
Susan jumped and turned. Marsha Lansky stood rigid in front of her, hands on hips, eyes angry.
“I, uh, I’ve been talking to Elvis. We’re friends. He’s autographing my album.”
Marsha Lansky replied indignantly, “Don’t be ridiculous. Elvis has been dead for five years.”
Faint sounds of a door sliding closed could be heard from inside the changing stall.
“It’s all right, don’t worry. I know, but I swore not to tell. I will never say anything to anyone.”
“There is nothing to tell. Elvis is not in this stall, and I’ll show you.” Marsha Lansky opened the door. “See! Nothing but an empty cubicle.”
Susan rushed to the back wall, covered with a large mirror. “This has to be a fake wall. It opens somehow.” She ran her fingers along the edge of the mirror, searching for a switch or something to trigger the opening of the secret door. Nothing.
Marsha Lansky picked up the album from the bench and examined the front and back. Susan grabbed it from her. “This is mine. I paid forty bucks for it this morning, and I’ve got a receipt to prove it.”
Marsha Lansky’s face twisted. “Fine, keep your album. But this is nothing more than an empty changing stall, and you are causing a disturbance. If you have any shopping to do, please attend to it. Otherwise, please leave my store.”
“Well, I was going to buy this sweat-suit, but I’ll just change back to my clothes and leave.” Susan went into her stall, and locked the door. She quickly pulled the album from the plastic sleeve and opened it up.
Marsha Lansky was still berating her through the closed door. “You’d be smart to take some good advice and get over this foolish notion that Elvis was in the next stall.”
Susan looked at the fresh signature on the inside album cover and smiled. Sure, right.
© 2001 Philip R Arnold