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elvisabutler · 2 years ago

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quiet on the set ( part one )

summary: once upon a time there was a female director who happened to be a bit of a nepotism baby despite her father's known distaste for them. once upon a time there was a singer turned singing actor who just wanted to be a serious actor. this is the story of how those two people meet, kind of hate each other, make two award winning films together and fall in love along the way somehow. fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: t, this part at least pairing: elvis presley x original female character word count: 3159 warnings: negative self talk. the colonel. talk of nepo babies. anxiousness. mild period typical misogyny. a whole thing about how transatlantic accents are the worst. playing a bit loose and fast with history. a use of the nickname princess that will exist this entire fic. author’s note: i have had this brewing since december. i've been trying to just straight up finish it before posting but i am truly at this point the most impatient and want to share it with everyone. it's based on a post by @steph-speaks who mentioned a female director and elvis winning awards and then @headfullofpresley and @burninlovebutler got at it and then oops angst. not spoiling it but this doesn't go exactly like the post i promise. i also can't find the post but steph has known about this for a long time. beyond that, so, few things of note, alfred hitchcock's actual daughter had said that he didn't believe in nepotism but i am deciding that in the case of a daughter who wanted to follow in his footsteps, well he could make an exception. in addition, transatlantic pictures shut down after three films but for the sake of this story, i do what i want and no it didn't. beyond that, picture elvis or austin elvis, works well either way i like to think. and special thanks to christi, bee, birdie and marina. i'd tag all of y'all but you're in the taglist so it seems silly. but those four have kept this chugging along more than i'm willing to admit. also credit to marina for the moodboard.

"That's the director?" Elvis asks a bit incredulously, narrowing his eyes at his manager, Colonel Tom Parker. "The one whose daddy gets her all the movies n' scripts she'd like and they turn out kind of good? That's who they've got directing this picture?"

Wasn't that just great, he's got one last shot to make a good- an honest to God good film and he's stuck being a part of the little Princess's latest vanity film. Well, he's hopefully stuck doing it, because while the Colonel assures him that he's going to be in it, that they'll have the contract whipped up in a jiffy but- she's insisting on an audition. Imagine that, him having to audition for a film, it's mildly embarrassing is what it is. He knows- god he knows his career isn't hot, knows that even with the special he's whipping up with Binder and Bones that his career's in the toilet like Binder said. But to have him have to audition for a picture that was a remake of Brando picture? It's an insult and an embarrassment to both him and her even if he figures this is the one time he can fully guarantee he won't have to croon some set of songs that the Colonel insisted get shoehorned in.

"My boy, they asked for you specifically, something about how they wanted a true Southern man in the role this time." The Colonel tries to explain before Elvis runs his tongue over the front of his teeth in frustration.

"Ain't from New Orleans, Colonel. Hell ain't even from Louisiana. Won't sound like Stanley's supposed ta-"

"Nonsense, you don't need to be exact. Just good enough. I've got you another picture! And they're paying you more than than the others." Elvis wishes that hearing that they're willing to pay him more didn't make his ears perk up but it does. It reminds him of how his daddy was mentioning they could use a bit more cash unless he wanted to get rid of some things or some workers.

"'nough to keep everyone happy?" Elvis asks gently, worried the answer is one he's not going to want to hear. He just needs to know his- needs to know his daddy isn't going to remind him of the cash flow problems.

"And more, my boy. It'll put you back on track, hm? I'll have to talk them into some songs but her producers and Miss Hitchcock herself know my demands." A beat. "Our demands."

Elvis can feel the migraine already starting to form behind- or maybe it's around- his eyes and finds himself leaning back against the chair looking up at the sky. It's almost as if he wants to ask his mama if it's the right thing to do. This- He remembers Streetcar, remembers his Mama thinking that Brando was good- great in it but telling him it was a shame a real Southern boy didn't get the part. Now that he's been in the movie business he understands why, understands that making a man from Nebraska talk like it is easier than letting a Southern man do it but find himself without a job because he can't shake how he sounds in a way that makes people- all those who like that accent they call Transatlantic- uncomfortable. Like sounding faintly hoity toity didn't make most people feel dumb as a bag of rocks and feel like Hollywood might be making fun of them. He might have lost his accent a little- consequence of being in California, he figures, he still knows he sounds a hell of a lot closer to Stanley than Brando did.

"Ya- Ya know I don't gotta record anythin' for this. This- this ain't a film that you can put 'em in. People- People won't be expecting that with me playin' him." He manages to avoid the natural infection he wants to add to the end of that sentence. Manages to avoid turning it into a question because he's not entirely sure. His pictures aren't doing as well and he's bored out of his goddamn mind with them, but is it because of the songs or is it because of him?

"That's what will make it different." The Colonel says with a smile that makes Elvis bite the inside of his mouth just a little in frustration. He wants to fight, to argue right now but it's not worth it to even try so he nods slowly earning an even larger smile. "I'll iron out the details. You just- knock her socks off, hm?"

A sigh leaves Elvis's mouth as he nods. He can feel the dreams he had for this film starting to crumble in his mind. The vision's already there, instead of screaming- shouting- bellowing Stella's name, he'll be singing it. Singing about how he needs her and how he's a fool. The same old song and goddamn dance for him to do so people can maybe buy tickets. Maybe see him in something they'll think is a departure from everything but is just more of the same bullshit masquerading as fun entertainment. Mr. Williams- Tennessee's gonna be mortified he let the Princess touch his film and cast him, gonna be mortified a fellow Southern man did his work so dirty. He can faintly hear The Colonel talking but the words honestly don't matter to him any more, washing over him like as if they're nonsense or a different language. Elvis stops nodding and giving appropriate hums after a while and finally was left in blissful silence to contemplate what exactly he had agreed to.

The day of the audition it's raining which Elvis thinks he should have taken as a sign from God that something was going to happen. What that particular thing would be he couldn't know but rain like this when the day before it had been sunny and bright? Hell, when earlier in the day it had been. The umbrella he had kept most of the water from drenching him but it was a near miss as he entered the building. Now, he knows very well where he's supposed to be, he had been told the room, had it written down on a piece of paper, everything, but here he was with a brain feeling half waterlogged and a piece of paper with smudged ink he couldn't read any more.

Well, he could read part of it. Something with the number eight in it assuming that wasn't just the ink smudging to make a zero turn into the eight. It shouldn't be that much of a problem, he doesn't know Warner Bros lots and buildings as well as he should but it's not like there should be that much of a difference between places- between studios. It should be easy enough to find, just look for all the places that had an eight attached to them and he's got to find her in one of them. He just hoped she wasn't a stickler for being on time given the circumstances. Hell, it's not as if this sort of thing was something he prepared for and planned to get caught having a problem with. Then again, maybe he'd get lucky, have a nice third time's the charm moment with rooms he tries.

Eighth time was the charm is what it was beginning to look like. How one place could have so many things that had things involving the number eight he has no idea. He looks at his watch and frowns, he's now almost thirty minutes late and what does he have to show for it? He still hasn't found her or anyone who's been able to even direct him to her. There's a part of him that's about to throw in the towel in sheer aggravation when he opens the door to reveal a woman just a few years younger than him looking so composed and polite he'd have thought he was looking at Princess Grace Kelly herself. Her brunette hair was pulled into a tight bun that somehow didn't make her look too harsh and instead seemed more practical than anything else. His eyes scanned her form starting with heels that he imagined gave her height but also served to lengthen her legs, not that he thinks she needed it, not that much at least. The longer he stares the more he swears she seems familiar but perhaps that feeling is just from the fact that she's another human being who looks like she just might be able to tell him what he needs to know. That she looks- reasonably attractive and has his eyes settling on her ample hips for just a hair longer than he should doesn't mean anything. Elvis manages to take a deep breathe before strolling in like he owns the place and stopping right in front of the woman in the room, completely ignoring the camera that is in the room.

"Thank God, someone who might be able to help- 'm supposed to be goin' to an audition. I know, having me audition for somethin', right? But I'm supposed to be auditionin' for Ms. Hitchcock and I can't find the room she wanted me t'have me do it in. And now I'm runnin' just a bit late and I figure she's gonna have a fit 'bout it." Elvis realizes he's mildly rambling and finds himself pretty thankful that by the grace of God he isn't stuttering from the nerves he feels in relation to this audition. The more he looked into it the more he realized she's a tough sell and is known for- bringing things out of her performers that make him excited- even if he's still so apprehensive- to maybe work with her. His eyes fllt to the camera, finally deciding to take his eyes off of her and her disapproving gaze. "Why are you in here with a camera by yourself?"

Her lips curl into a wry smile before she purses her lips and just lets out a slow exhale. "Imagine Mr. Presley having to audition for Ms. Hitchcock. I know who you are, Mr. Presley. But I take it you have no idea who I am. After all, I don't appear to be having- oh how did you put it- a fit about you being late. I did see the weather outside. Nasty bit for California if I'm being honest." She pauses and looks at him like she's peering into his soul before standing up and walking to him, holding out her hand when she finally reaches him. "Catherine Hitchcock, the reason you're having to audition."

Elvis is entirely aware that if he had a mirror in front of him he would get to witness his life flashing before his eyes and see the color drain from his face. He had just- She had just let him go on and embarrass himself. Formality or not, this was not how he needed to have things start out with him and her, especially since he's been practicing over and over and he wants this to work, wants to earn his place in this film. The Colonel may think it's a done deal but he doesn't think so and the more he looks at Catherine the more he thinks he's right. This would be the perfect excuse to keep him away from this film. He's not punctual, he's insulting, he's-

"Why, so you can tell me I'm too Southern for a picture that takes place in New Orleans?" The words slip out before he has a chance to stop them, his brain deciding he needs to defend himself from what slight it feels she committed against him. "Been told it's a formality, Ms. Hitchcock. They tell me wrong?"

Catherine tilts her head just so in a way that's infuriating to Elvis. She's studying him like he's beneath her, like he's some bug she's found in the dirt and is inspecting to see if she wants to keep. "I don't need a singing actor. They told you wrong, this is a serious audition and one I'm beginning to doubt you-"

"Prepared for?" He finishes her sentence with a huff of a laugh, shaking his head as he backs up a little. "Nice to know you're every bit the princess I figured ya were. Can't handle other people gettin' in on-"

"Mr. Presley." She warns as she moves back to her table and shuffles some papers before sitting back down. "I don't- you are thirty minutes late, we don't have time to- I need you to focus. We're busy people, are we not?"

His eyes slide down her form once more, noting how her relatively ample chest is heaving just slightly in frustration as she looks at him and he wrenches his eyes from the view as he nods. "Considerin' I gotta head to talk t'some more people, I'd say yeah. From the top, then?"

Catherine nods, moving to fiddle with the camera in order to attempt to tape this audition. "Yes, Mr. Presley, from the top."

What transpires next is the longest three hours of Elvis's life. He's heard about English women, sophisticated women being hard to crack, heard about them being hard to get a read on but if there's one thing he knows, it's how to read someone- how to read women specifically. Even though he had been such a nervous boy and young man, he knew how to charm them nowadays. Knows the ins and outs of their faces and how he knows that he's pleased 'em. But Catherine is blank, she's blank and silent. All the other directors had mentioned things he might need to change when between takes or between different lines. Yet here she was leaving him to drown in uncertainty. Leaving him to drown without offering a life preserver to tell him he's doing good, to tell him she likes how he's approaching things. He's pretty sure he'd take her telling him he's atrocious versus this silence. Is this how people feel working with her father? Is this why- no Elvis can't dwell on it, can't dwell on the possibility that Little Miss Princess Hitchcock is going to be cruel enough to tease him with a part only to deny him it. Elvis starts to open his mouth to begin again before Catherine holds up her hand and shakes her head.

"I've seen enough, Mr. Presley. Heard enough of your voice for today, I'm afraid." Her tone sounds bored, he thinks, but maybe that's just how she sounds in general, maybe that's not a true sign of her dislike or enjoyment of his performance. He wishes he was able to read off of whoever's playing Blanche, oh he knows he could have shined better. Shown off how good he is playing off of other humans and not a wall of silence other than required lines. He runs his tongue across the front of teeth before his lips twist into a frown of sorts.

"That it then? Ya done wit' me?" Elvis asks and there's a small part of him that knows he means it a multitude of ways and not just if she's done with him today. Catherine's response startles him when she nods with a certainty that has his stomach dropping to the floor.

"I'll be in touch if you got it, Mr. Presley. After all, I never did say it was a guarantee. To you or to Colonel Parker. If he told you any different, that is entirely his fault." Her body easily moves to stand up and starts to grab the roll of film. "Your voice suits him well enough, though, I suppose. If you can shake any lingering California traces."

"I don't have any-" Elvis starts before he hears the tap-tap-tap of her heels against the floor and feels her finger on his lips.

"You do. Now, if you excuse me, do go and handle your business that I've kept you from, I'd hate to be known as someone who caused you problems like that." She pauses, and turns around, leaving Elvis to stare at her backside and the way her high waisted pants are somehow perfectly tailored to her body and- he was not going to dwell on that.

Words and defenses that are on his lips died as soon as he felt her finger against his lip so he nods and gives her the largest and most sincere smile he can manage. "'Course. Have a good day, Ms. Hitchcock. Lookin' forward t'workin' wit' ya. If ya go with me."

There, that's what he needed to do, to plant a seed so she'd know he was serious about this job, that he was serious about wanting this for so long and no one wants to give him a chance to prove himself. This time he could do it though, this time he wanted to do it and this time he wants to hear some form of praise coming from her mouth. He leaves the room as he hears her sigh and hears a small creaking noise from the chair.

Waiting for Catherine to call him involves days that feel like blurs and yet feel like they never end at the same time. Nothing to the Colonel, nothing to him, not even her calling to tell him that he was the worst actor she had ever come in contact with. Two whole weeks of being on edge waiting for some knowledge only to be let down every single day. It's the 8th of the month now and he hears the phone ring and Elvis swears he's never moved so fast as he has from the front door of his house to the nearest phone. Catherine's voice rings out through the phone and Elvis finds that he's holding his breath.

"Stanley Kowalski?" She asks and Elvis feels the breath he was holding rushes out of his mouth in a flash. "I'm teasing, Mr. Presley. But, I'm formerly telling you that you've- With you I do believe I found my Stanley. If you're willing to-"

"Ms. Hitchcock I'm willin' t'do anythin' to do him justice. Know I'm not Brando- but- you won't regret this and I'll- I'll rein in the Colonel, won't have him addin' songs." Elvis cuts her off and he hears what he swears is a small smile in her voice before she shushes him.

"I'll believe it when I see it, Mr. Presley. Don't be late for the first day of shooting, hm. Come rain or shine." Catherine's voice almost sounds like she's teasing but Elvis can't tell. It's probably what influences his response more than anything else.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Princess." He responds before hanging up the phone.

It's only afterward when he's laying in bed that he realizes that quick hang up might have been a mistake. Even if she is a little princess, he probably shouldn't have called her that like he did.

"Shit."

taglist: @blurredcolour, @ab4eva, @precious-little-scoundrel, @butlersxbirdy, @thatbanditqueen, @eliseinmemphis, @powerofelvis, @prompted-wordsmith, @mooodyblue, whoever wants to be tagged for this fic, just leave a comment, alright?

#elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley #elvis presley x oc #60s elvis presley #60s elvis #ken doll elvis #hollywood elvis #elvis presley fic #elvis presley fanfiction

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