#1972 Elvis

[ellie-24]

Underrated interview imo

[hooked-on-elvis]

[Trigger Warning] ELVIS MEETING HIS FANS, WITH A GUN BEHIND HIS BACK: TRUE OR FALSE? (July, 1972)

July, 1972 on Elvis' Beverly Hills home, 1174 Hillcrest Drive.

INTRODUCTION: Some things need to be clear beforehand. Elvis was threatened quite a few times over the years, specially since he began performing live on stage again, in 1969. Death threats were sent his way occasionally. Whether the threats were intentional or just a way of messing up with a famous person, some of those sounded pretty serious, thus not only Presley's personal security men or the local police department, even the FBI worked in investigating some of those incidents. Things got to a point when there were moments the threats warned about bombs being placed at his concert sites at the same day a show about to take place. Nothing came out of any of those threats, fortunately but, once those things happened, naturally Elvis was concerned for his life, therefore he was absolutely entitled to carry a gun, out of precaution, safety, "just in case" situation. It's fair to mention the Manson murders had only taken place a few years earlier (August, 1969) and, as we all know, actress Sharon Tate and her friends were murdered inside her home, tragically, which happened to be at Elvis' Beverly Hills neighborhood, so, yes, Elvis Presley was usually carrying a gun throughout the 70s, often, if not all times.

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Now, where this story on that one specific picture came from? Elvis' stepbrother, Billy Stanley. Billy is standing behind Elvis on the picture above.

Fans discuss Elvis' personal life over and over - and almost nothing can possibly come to conclusion because we weren't there to witness anything and some of the sources the stories come from are not so reliable as they seem to be, but still it's fun to collect different accounts on things that happened in the King' life. On January 10th, 2024, a fan shared the first picture (on top of this post, Elvis walking alone towards his gate with the left hand behind his back) on a Facebook fanpage. The fans passionately discussed the "gun" rumor. Pamela Freiberg, owner and administrator for "Elvis in the 70s" Facebook group, directly asked Billy about this "rumor" that was published in books and articles over the years, and he confirmed the story to her.

Pamela's comment on the group was: "Billy wrote to me ... here are the words .... 'There's actually a series of photos from this day. I was outside and saw a guy that was trying to look like Elvis. When I saw him, I thought Elvis would get a kick out of this. So, I went inside and told him about the guy. Elvis picked up his pistol and we walked to the gate. He didn't want anyone to see the gun, so he put it behind his back. As we were walking toward the gate, he motioned for me to take the gun, which I did and tucked it behind me in my jeans.'"

Some believe him, some not. One can wonder 'why Elvis would have his left hand on the gun, when he was right handed?', for instance.

Sandi Miller, one of the most recognized Elvis fans, who met Elvis in the 60s and today calls herself a "gate girl", — those passionate fans who met Elvis by standing at the gates of his homes, waiting for him to come outside, whenever he was there, to talk to them, something he would do frequently — who even was (to a certain extent) very close to Elvis, a friend even, since she dated Charlie Hodge for a time, was there that day on July, 1972. She commented on the thread in that one Facebook group too, trying to defend Elvis. She said, "He did not have a gun in his hand!! He often carried guns but not always and not usually when he would come out to visit with fans...more likely that he'd have his little derringer In his boot."

Elvis, July, 1972. Sandi Miller: "Same day but after he visited with everyone…then he and the brothers got in the car and left - he stopped again when he came back also."

— Sandi Miller's accounts on this July, 1972, moment. Those pages comes from the book "Elvis - Behind the Image" by Bud Glass. I do not know if it's the Vol. 1 or Vol. 2, tho. Excerpts from Sandi Miller's journals, where she wrote down details of the meetings with Elvis in the 60s and 70s, were used to both volumes of "Behind the Image" publications. Many candid pictures in those books are also hers. By the way, many of the candid pictures of Elvis in his gates we see around the internet were actually taken by Sandi.

Arrived around noon and there was already quite a crowd at the house. In the crowd of fans was a guy that resembled Elvis somewhat in you just glanced at him. He had heard that Elvis sometime came out to visit and had hoped to meet Elvis. One of the girls (fans) pushed the speaker and mentioned that there was an Elvis look-alike standing out there.... whoever answered the speaker apparently knew already because the answer was "We know". Just then a door opens up and there comes Elvis walking up the drive with his stepbrothers right behind him. It was fun watching Elvis' face as he talked to this guy, and add to see them side by side. After visiting for a while, Elvis said he had to get back inside because they had to leave for an appointment shortly. They shook hands and Elvis went back into the house - he drove out not too long after and once again stopped for photos before leaving. The man at the gate commented that Elvis had "made his day".

Personally, I don't see the fuss about this. I believe Billy. I believe Elvis was carrying a gun indeed, but he obviously didn't intend on using it unless he felt threatened, and we know stories about passionate fans who lashed out their idols, some even murdered them in fact (John Lennon was one of the icons, assassinated by a passionate fan). There's plenty of those stories. Let's just imagine ourselves as famous people. We hear there's someone trying to look like you, standing outside your house. Wouldn't you felt at least a little bit uneasy? I know I would never walk out there by myself. Elvis was curious if the guy indeed looked like him or not, maybe even because he had a twin brother who died at birth, Jesse Presley, so if I was him I would've been dying to see this look-alike person, but I would've been careful about meeting him too. You never know.

Elvis and his look-alike fan, Larry Blong. July, 1972, Beverly Hills, CA.

Fortunately, things went smoothly. Elvis saw the guy, shook hands, and the fan had the time of his life meeting his idol. That is all we need to care about. ♥

[dopescissorscashwagon]

Elvis Presley

~ April 8, 1972 in Knoxville, Tennessee 🧡

[suraemoon]

modeling some jumpsuits ⚡️

[leopardandstuds]

Elvis in Oakland, CA on 11/11/72 - an amazing outfit!

[p0lksaladannie]

Unused footage from Elvis On Tour. Putting on a ridiculously big tie. He’s such a goofball 😂 The way he looks at himself in the mirror and then sings “A hunk-a hunk-a burning love” cracked me up.

[be-my-ally]

Sobering Up

Honestly this has some p… uhhh wrong things in - like being told you’re being ‘softened up’ or ‘hysterical’ but it's all in somewhat good fun? Idk reader gets turned on by it, lets not look at the reasons why that is too hard yeah? 

This spiralled out of my control very quickly from a quick oh I’m gonna do a sweet little cuddly soft hungover fic to no. They are gonna argue. 

written for the prompt "Why are you doing this?"

warnings: 18+, arguing, kissing, discussions about alcohol, smut, reader refers to elvis as daddy twice but not actually while uhhh doing anything sexual.

in my head - 1972/3 elvis x fem!reader - I'm picturing blue suit msg elvis; not in the blue suit but that whole look :)

wc: 3.7k of silly little smut

hopefully, those on their deathbeds, cough @whositmcwhatsit cough survive to read this. for the girlies always @thatbanditqueen @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love apologies it is, as always, late.

He’s in bed when you stumble in, giggling still about something the girls said in the car. You’d said you were just going out to dinner, meeting some of the friends you missed while you were in Vegas with him. Elvis had pouted, and sulked, but your agreement to move in with him permanently had been enough to make him reluctantly agree. Still, he’d rolled around on the bed, huffing and whining that he wanted to come too, and it wasn’t fair to be leaving him all on his lonesome, even as he’d watched you carefully apply your eyeliner, dark eye shadow weighing down your lids. He’d brushed a finger down your cheek when you’d leant over him to reach for something on the bedside table, and told you you looked beautiful before flopping back, lamenting the fact he was not coming with you. Muttering to himself that it wasn’t right for you to be going out looking like that without him. But you’d threatened him thoroughly enough that he’d sworn up down and sideways he would stay home with the boys, even if he made it clear he was regretting his agreement when the time came. 

It’s later than you’d expected now though. You’d all stayed late at the restaurant, putting your seemingly limitless wad of cash he’d handed to you on your way out to good use, before, drunk on the free-flowing cocktails and champagne it had been suggested you go out dancing. It had occurred to you to call, but honestly you figured there wasn’t much difference between one and three am if Elvis was, as you had expected him to be, knocked out asleep. You fall against his bedroom door as it swings open, throwing your bag and coat towards the chair in the corner. He flinches at the thump of them hitting the floor, feet away from where you were aiming. 

“You’re drunk.” He says flatly in greeting. You glance over at him, giggles catching in your throat at his tone. He’s sat up in the bed, book open on his lap, embroidered EP on the chest of his pyjamas just peeking out, he looks sleepy, and if you weren’t quite so tipsy you would have felt guilty about keeping him up waiting for you. As it was the image of him sat in bed waiting for you was enough to make you giggle even more, 

“No, El, no - I’ve only had,” You pause, getting the giggles all over again, “only had a couple.” He shakes his head, kicking the coverlet off of his knees and pulling back the sheets. You can’t catch your breath and you couldn’t tell anyone what it was you were finding so funny, just that you couldn’t stop laughing. 

“Not sure what’s so funny little girl.” His tone is enough to send you over the edge again, just as you were starting to calm down. You trip over your feet when you try to come closer to him and you’re annoyed enough at your ankle twisting in your shoes that it cuts through your laughter, 

“Fucking goddamn heels,”  You try to kick them off, suddenly furious when the strap catches on your ankle and you have to bend over on wobbly legs to fiddle with it enough to unclasp and come off. “Fuck - ow!” You don’t notice Elvis getting out of the bed until he’s grasping your arm, 

“ ‘Nough of that now - your momma would be washing your mouth out if she’d heard that.” You grimace a little - she would have, but still; it hurt! “C’mon now darlin’, let’s get you sobered up a little, get you to bed.” He’s got a firm grip on the top of your arm, and you can tell he’s not altogether pleased, but he’s got a hint of amusement in his tone still. He directs you into the adjoining bathroom, you try to pull back a little but all it results in is his fingers tightening their grip.

“No - wanna, daddy, wanna - thought we could….” Even drunk you’re shy, “…want you to touch me.” He looks at you coldly, and you flinch back, “We haven’t in, in ages.” If you’d been sober you never would have dared to bring it up. He huffs, puffing his chest up, as if about to argue you with you but then he seems to deflate, as if knowing he had no defence. 

“Well if you weren’t out all hours of the night we could have.” He leans forward to turn the taps in the circular shower, water immediately pulsing out; his water pressure was something you had only dreamed of. You pull away, already feeling that it’s nowhere near the temperature you would prefer but he just tuts at you, stripping you of the skimpy little dress you’d gone out in. You go dazedly where he tugs you, he rolls your eyes at your little lace underwear, 

“Who’d you put these on for?” He flicks the lace at your hip as he pulls them off of you, forcing you to lift your feet when he taps your leg. 

“Yo-ou! Who else?” He hums back at you, and you squirm, too drunk to really defend yourself and a little confused at what was going on. You’re normally still a little shy to be fully naked around him, but today you’re just trying to keep your eyes open, hands rubbing your eyes rather than wrapped around your middle. A moment later he’s practically shoving you under the shower head and he holds you there until your flush starts to come down a little and you’re blinking at him a little more together. The spray wasn’t cold, he wasn’t a monster, but it wasn’t hot either. 

“El, Elvis, ba-by, let me out- it’s cold, I’m fine now, I swear - I’m uh, uh, not even tipsy.” He frowns for a moment, as if considering, and you wrap an arm around yourself, he rolls his eyes. He hands you a washcloth, instructing you to wash your face, and you do as he says while doing the best you can to keep your hair from getting wet.

He pulls you out, pyjama arm rolled up to his elbow to stop it from getting damp and he grasps a monogrammed towel, roughly rubbing the soft cotton over your skin. He grasps each arm to dry it, manhandling you around as he brushes the towel over your body. You’ve sobered up enough not to say anything, catching on that his silence isn’t a good sign, although you’re definitely, despite your protestations, not of completely sound mind. He leaves you stood there, after draping a robe around you, to fetch your pyjamas, and in the time that he’s gone you’re rapidly sobering enough to be teary at the thought that he’s mad at you. 

He comes back, tutting at your tears, dressing you in a skimpy little babydoll set and pulling you over to the bed, pushing you under the covers. You can’t take the silence any longer, now that you’re aware of it. 

“Please - Elvis, daddy, I’m sorry,” He hushes you, louder than your words.

“I ain’t discussin’ it with you now darlin’,” He glances over at the clock on the nightstand, “It’s way past your bedtime.” You frown up at him, you might have been a little bit later than usual, but you weren’t a child; you weren’t out past your curfew or bedtime. Your eyebrows scrunch together and he tuts as he smooths out the crinkle in between with a finger, “Your face’ll stay that way.” You scowl for a brief second before smoothing out your expression. You change tacts - pleading at him with your eyes and pouting. He’s having none of it though, pulling the covers over you tight. You watch him pick up the robe and towel, throwing them into the bathroom and moving your shoes so they’re not a trip hazard in the night, before climbing into bed behind you. You hear him reach for his pill bottle, and you want to ask for one yourself but you can already feel your eyes closing, before he pulls you to him. You sniffle into the pillow as his arm tightens around your waist; 

“I don’t wanna hear you’ve got a headache in the morning.” He murmurs against your cheek as he leans over to press a kiss to your temple. He says it as a statement and you nod in reply even as your eyes start to tear at the tone. His hands belie such harsh words though, gently scooping you into him. Quickly you succumb to the darkness creeping around the edges of your vision and you’re fast asleep before you could even protest your innocence. 

———————

The world is spinning with each breath you take when you awaken in what you think is the morning, your heartbeat causing the edges of your vision to pulse. You feel dizzy enough that the idea of sitting up threatens vomit and you are, for once, more than a little glad that Elvis keeps his bedroom so dark and cold. You’re not alone in the bed, hangover waking you far earlier than you normally would be, Elvis still snuffling behind you. You’re in a bit of a daze as you try to wriggle out of his hold and swing your legs around, desperate for the bathroom. You go, blindly, with no concept of what time it might be not in your little oasis of dark. 

When you get back he’s half-awake, palm open and pill in his hand, sat propped up a little atop his mountain of pillows. You take a second to appreciate his open face and sleep-mussed hair, regretting that you feel too awful to even really initiate a kiss. He opens his eyes when he feels you climbing back into bed, smiling as they fall shut again; 

“Come on honey, here ya go, forgot to have it last night didn’t ya, wanna - need to go back to sleep for a few hours baby,” You shake your head, 

“El- I don’t think, I’m still pretty blitzed, I - I’m really not sure,” You push his hand away a little, “I don’t even know what’s in it,” He huffs, eyes closed but palm still outstretched, slurring his words slightly, 

“You don’t - you saying you don’t trust me hon-ey?” He frowns, “You should - should trust me, I - it’s all in, all in my PDR’s, in, in the supl’ment -I, baby, I wouldn’t risk ya.” His eyes blink blearily open before they slip closed again, shaking his hand out at you. 

“Of course I trust you but, I -“ He blinks his eyes open again, tone hardening even despite the way all of his words are running together, 

“Just take the damn pill. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” You look at him, before resigning yourself to it, taking and swallowing the pill, relieved that the quality of sleep might mean that when you wake up later you might be feeling better. You snuggle down into him and he wraps his arms back around you, a furnace amidst the cold bedding. 

———————

He’s grumpy in the afternoon when you finally wake up, your mini argument the night before not helping his mood from where he was already furious. He storms about the room and bathroom, flinging clothes and stomping around, but clearly having not been up for long - still in his pyjamas, hair fluffy and a mess. You come around to him talking to himself, 

“Fuckin’ woman, out all hours of the goddamn night with god-knows who, not listenin’ to me, not trustin’ me.” You’re immediately defensive, even as you try to deal with your dry mouth and throbbing headache. 

“I do, I do trust you.” You manage to croak out. He spins around to stare at you, 

“Oh, you trust me.” He laughs, and then pauses, “But you didn��t want me around last night!  You just too busy wanting to show off for everyone?” You choke back tears - your head is still pounding and you hate how unsympathetic he’s being, like he’s punishing you for a night out with your friends, how he’s making you feel like you’ve done something wrong. You push yourself to be sitting fully upright, still blinking away sleep. 

“Of course I’d want you there! I told you that! But, I just wanted one night, it’s tricky to go out - you know that.” You know he’ll need more reassurance later but for now you were hopeful that would be sufficient to quell his feelings for now - although as he scoffs in response you have to assume you were wrong. You quickly try to distract him again so you can concentrate on the part that was, no doubt, angering him the most. “But, I do trust you.” 

He stops in his tracks, stalking back over to perch on the bed, 

“You got-a funny way of showing it then little girl,”

“I just didn’t know if it was safe to mix!” He frowns, shaking his head, 

“Of course it was - I was givin' it to ya wasn’t I?” You nod, but still despite the warning bells in your ear, you can’t seem to let it go. 

“Well yeah - but I still didn’t know for sure it was safe.” 

“Well it is. Unless you’ve got…got… psychosis.” He laughs, a little meanly, shrugging, “Although maybe you do huh, it would ‘plain a lot.” You shove the covers off of yourself, furious, 

“You don’t hafta be so mean to me!” His eyes flash and the little thrill of fear it causes makes you stumble as you go to pull a dressing gown over your shoulders. He comes up behind you, his large hands resting on your shoulders, leaning over to brush his lips against your ear. 

“I ain’t bein’ mean to you honey. If anything it’s the opposite - I’m just tryna to tell you it’s not, not, becoming for a pretty little girl to be out behavin’ like this. Comin’ home in a state.”

“I wasn’t out behaving like, like, anything!” You’re indignant on this point, voice raising. 

“Shhh baby,” He strokes your hair, smoothing the back of it. “It’s ok now, c’mon calm down. There ain’t no need for the hysterics.” You cringe, as if that wasn’t your least favourite term to be called as a woman - you understood what it meant to call a woman hysterical, and the amount it annoys you is enough to make you see red, shrugging his hands off of you and spinning around to face him.

“Listen! If I wanna go out and have a few drinks I can, I’m a big girl and I don’t need you, or anyone else,” He frowns, “policing what I can or can’t do. I don’t know why you have such a problem with it!”

“I’ve just told ya why darlin’ - because it’s not right for a pretty little thing like yourself to be doing by yourself.” He smiles, like he’s finding your annoyance amusing now, making you screech back at him. 

“I wasn’t by myself! You just mean without you!” The rest of his sentence suddenly registers in your mind, and you step back in slight incredulity,  “So. If I wasn’t pretty I could get drunk whenever I wanted?” 

He shakes his head, “You’re twistin’ my words, that wasn’t what I was -“ A thought suddenly occurs to you, and you interrupt him to ask, 

“Anyway how’s it any different to your pills?” He splutters at you for a second, cheeks flushing red. 

“Goddamn it you silly - stupid girl.” He’s stepped even closer to you and you have to look up to maintain eye contact. “They’re prescribed.” He’s glaring at you, eyes ablaze, cheeks sucked in as he chews on the inside and gritting his teeth. It emphasises his cheekbones even more and you feel the anger in your stomach start to turn to fluttering butterflies of arousal. No. Oh god, his hair is so fluffy. Focus. You’re annoyed. You remind yourself. Tilting your chin up in an effort to not to get distracted by the peek of his chest heaving under the open collar of his pyjama shirt. 

“Why are you doing this E? Why are you being like this? You haven’t gotta treat me like this.” You go to push past him, he grunts as you shove his side. 

“Don’t.” His voice has gotten lower, in anger or annoyance or arousal you can’t tell, but it’s deliciously gravelly. “Just listen to me for chrissake.” He grabs your arm, turning you and pulling to practically fling you back on the bed.

You wriggle around, not able to stop yourself from wanting him to catch you. He does, crawling onto the bed, caging you within his arms. You roll over, little shorts and shirt riding up, and he catches you with his hand swinging down on your exposed ass. You flinch as he smacks it a second, and then a third time - you yelp and he laughs, as you feel a handprint raising on your skin. He rolls you back as you mewl at him, forgetting your earlier resolution to be as stand-offish as possible instead holding his arm as tightly as possible. Allowing yourself to be tugged into him and tucking yourself under. He noses at your cheek, whispering into your ear, 

“That’s it baby, just had to soften you up a little bit didn’t I,” You whine back at him, not wanting to agree but suddenly so turned on you couldn’t bring yourself to disagree. “That’s my good baby back now,” Elvis leans down, petting you gently, little sweeping strokes down your arm and stomach. “My little baby, huh,” He mouths at your neck and cheek and you can’t help but lean into him. 

“Uh-huh,” He huffs a laugh across your skin at your loss of words and attitude, 

“Gonna make it up to me? 'pologise for being so difficult earlier? For not trusting me.” It’s a question phrased like a statement and you frantically nod your agreement. He kisses down your throat and you struggle to put a hand out in an attempt to grasp at his chest, 

“Let me - I’ll - I’m sorry, sorry for earlier.” He bats your hand off of him though, tilting your head with a hand on your neck, the other coming to wrap around your torso, finally kissing you properly. He grips you just right, thumb moving in little firm circles right over your pressure point. 

You let yourself be devoured, hips pushed back down when they jump up in response to the actions of his tongue and lips. He pulls back, his pouty spit-slicked lips glowing in the lamplight of the bedroom. He moves his hand lower, brushing the little French knickers of your set up and to the side.

You feel your pulse jump as he barely rests his hand on your now exposed cunt, the anticipation almost too much to bear. “Let me show you all the tricks I’ve learnt as a gee-tar player honey.” You’re quick to agree, practically begging. His fingers slide over you and you can’t help but move your hips in time to his gentle roving circles. You continue to squirm when he leans back down to suck a bruise onto your collarbone, forcing a loud moan out of you. His fingers are long and slim and undoubtedly he knows exactly how to use them, teasing expertly over your clit to make your eyes fall closed. 

He has, for once, only got his little pinky ring on and in some ways it feels strange to be feeling his hands without the cold metal of his rings. But there’s no doubt of whose hands they are as he coos into your ear. He uses his fingers to spread you apart, pushing the little shorts even further to the side, fingers sliding in the slick in between. 

“Don’t - don’t tease me - s’not nice.” Your hips thrust closer to him as he laughs against the side of your face, breath huffing across your cheek. He lifts his hand away, hovering just over top of you. 

“Thought you were ‘pologisin’ to me - thought that meant you’d let me do what I like?” His voice is lyrical in your ears, sing-songing as he teases you. He’s circling almost painstakingly gently, moving closer and closer, dancing over your skin, 

“God - yes, you’re right - whatever you say - just god, Elvis. I need you.” 

Finally, he dips one of his nimble fingers down into you, a second rapidly joining when you moan in pure pleasure. He presses them into you, other hand still grasping your neck while he continues to circle your clit with his thumb. 

“Told you darling,” His fingers speed up, “see - now you’re seeing sense aren’t you.” Any argument has been truly fucked out of you. Your knees come up as he speeds up even more, your legs spreading further seemingly of their own accord. His hand comes down from your neck, trailing over your throat and you reach up to anchor yourself to it, clutching at his forearm - a lifeline amidst the sensations. 

He crooks his fingers just right and you feel yourself start to quiver as your potential orgasm builds. You have to close your eyes entirely, although the way his face looks - focussed with absurd concentration -  atop his flushed visible chest makes it harder to draw yourself away. 

His other hand trails down, stopping to affectionately squeeze a nipple on the way, the slight pinch sending more arousal flooding into your stomach. He finishes you off with seemingly minimal effort and you can tell he’s growing a little smug with it. You shudder around his hand, core muscles crunching as you try to blindly, desperately, tug him down for another kiss. He gently continues to pet you through your orgasm, only pulling out and away when you start to gasp at the sheer lack of breath. 

He lets you relax for a few moments, wiping his hand on your shorts and thigh. He draws you back in for another filthy kiss, open-mouthed and pressing his lips to any part of you they can reach. 

“Lord, gosh - El that was…” You don’t have the words to articulate what you mean so you settle with, “Sorry, again, - about last night.”  He sits up properly at those words and gestures down at himself, unbuttoning his shirt as he does. 

“Come on then, show me how sorry you are baby.” He waves a hand at the bulge clearly evident in his silk bottoms, “Give him a kiss, s’ok honey, want you to - to say sorry properly for leaving us at home.” 

[simplyelvis]

Elvis Presley before his concert in Roanoke, Virginia, April 11, 1972.

[nikidontsurf]

Elvis performs "That's Alright Mama" at Madison Square Garden in New York, June 10 1972.

[claire-elvisgirl]

Just look at his opened legs...they seem to say "come here" 🤤🤤🤤

Underrated interview imo

[hooked-on-elvis]

"ᴇʟᴠɪꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴜʀ" (ᴍɢᴍ, 1972) — ᴅɪʀ. ᴘɪᴇʀʀᴇ ᴀᴅɪᴅɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴏʙᴇʀᴛ ᴀʙᴇʟ

[howardhawkshollywoodmusic]

52. Burning Love by Elvis Presley debuted Aug 72 and peaked at number two, scoring 1134 points.

This was Elvis' last song to make the top ten.

[presleypictures]

Elvis with Sergio Mendes and Paul Anka in Las Vegas, 1972.

[suraemoon]

Elvis Outfit Spotlight V2

Baby Blue for the MSG Press Conference, 1972

Worn: June 9, 1972 for a press conference in the Mercury Ballroom at the New York Hilton, ahead of his performances at Madison Square Garden

[missmaywemeetagain]

Posting these for absolutely no reason at all…nothing to see here…certainly nothing to anticipate… ✨🧣✨💛🧣💛😈😇

(And thank you to @thatbanditqueen for helping me procure these!! 🥰)

[thatbanditqueen]

The Late Night Dayton Gig

A One Shot Written for the Prompt: Do it again. Please.

From Elvis’ concert performance in Dayton, OH April 7, 1972

Warnings: Drug use implied and being fucked up described. Curse words. Angst. Somehow this is even less smutty than the last one. And I have a “at least one scene” general smut rule for my writing. What has happened to me? I wrote this very quickly and there are many typos.

Summary: Alex is helping her mom close up the family deli in Dayton, OH when they get a last minute rush catering order for a special VIP client.

Word Count: 2,788

Friday, April 7, 1972 5 p.m. Katz Delicatessen

Not far from the University of Dayton Arena

The cool air carried a loose piece of paper and it hit the window next to where Alex sat, startling her as she finished writing out the inventory she had just taken in the deli’s ledger. She stopped to clean her glasses with the hem of her simple, brown floral dress and looked up to see her mother lean against the office door way.

“I’m almost done, Mama, have you boxed up the cake for Ellie’s birthday yet? Think we should do it before or after I take her out?”

Mama sighed, wiping her hands on her dirty apron.

“You have to cancel tonight, tell Ellie we’ll celebrate tomorrow.”

Alex put her glasses back on, frowning.

“What? No, it’s all set, Randy is meeting us for dinner at home, then he got us on the guest list at that new night club down down, The Nitty Gritty. Ellie only turns 21 once. Why would I cancel?”

“Oy, because I just got a call from Stu.”

“Myerwitz?”

“Mhmmm. They have a rush catering order, and the hotel kitchen is already overwhelmed with two weddings and a Christening. And the party is tonight.”

“Tough titties Mama.” Alex stood, slamming the ledger shut. “Not our problem.”

Mama walked over, looking to Alex’s face, her hand on her shoulder.

“Oh babushka, I hate when you talk like that. It’s too much money to turn down. Stu won’t tell me who, but it’s a VIP client, very very VIP. Five thousand dollars.”

Alex’s face dropped. “Well, that should have been the first thing you said, I guess.” She sat down and took out a piece of paper. “How are we gonna prepare that much food in time for a dinner party? And who can I get to work it?” She started making notes on her piece of paper, writing the date at the top, and then “VIP River West Hotel Dinner Party.”

“It’s a late dinner, party, midnight I think. And who else, Sasha? You, Randy and Ellie.”

Alex looked back out the window, reaching up to adjust the messy brown bun at the top of her head.  “Ughhh, happy 21st birthday, and by the way, you’ll be spending it working with me and your boyfriend at a dinner party for some schmuck who can’t plan in advance.” She looked at her mother. “Please tell me that part of the five grand was the rush order, it’s not really five thousand dollars worth of food and wait staff?”

“Stu said 100 people, so I told him $50 a head.”

Alex smiled. “Good.”

***************************************************************************************************

“I’m not paying $50 a head, sorry lady, but that’s highway robbery.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed at the chubby, jowl faced bastard in front of her and she whistled at Ellie and Randall to stop plating the deviled eggs and the brisket appetizers.

“Um, that was the agreed upon fee when this booking was made, so unless I get a check for five grand right now, we are taking our food and walking.” Alex tucked her leather notebook under her arm, and smoothed her black, button down blouse before clenching her right hand into a fist. She was about to blow her top if this small, horrible little troll said another word to her that wasn’t yes. Ma’am. Right away.

“Lady, that wasn’t a part of any agreement I made. I’ll do $25 a head, no more. What are you going to do, throw this food away?”

Alex tightened her jaw, squishing up her mouth in contempt as she walked over to the side of the kitchen where food trays sat lined in three enclosed, steel carts, and began returning the food on the counter to them.

“OK, guys, start packing up, I’m done. I’d rather give this food to a homeless shelter than take any money from a two-bit, schister trying to hustle us on a last minute rush order for some mysterious VIP.”

Ellie swallowed a guffaw, grinning in disbelief at her sister, before nodding, and boxing the eggs back up. Randy stirred himself and followed suit.

Joe put his hand on Alex’s shoulder as she closed up a full trolley and moved to push it out of the kitchen area and back through the Presidential Suite.

“Now honey, listen, why don’t we —”

Alex nudged his hand off her shoulder with a scowl, the trolley wheels squeaking out as she began to push it out of the kitchen.

“Don’t you honey me, you snake. We received a phone call at 3:30 pm. That’s seven hours ago, ordering a full buffet dinner for a 100 people, with staff. The type of order I book months in advance. And I was told that if we could swing the rush timeline it would be a sweet five thousand. Now you’re trying to honey me into half of the agreed upon amount?”

Alex stopped at the large double doors at the front of the suite to shake her fist at Joe.

“Fuck you, fuck your VIP boss, and here’s a tip, if you want a woman to know you take her serious in any professional negotiation or discussion, don’t call her honey, ok?” Alex grabbed the door and pulled it open as she looked back at Joe. “Cuz I am not your —”

Just as she rotated to pull the cart into the corridor, Alex found herself lurching into the pale, sweaty, hairy chest of one Elvis Presley, who paused wiping his face with the towel around his neck to catch her by the shoulders as she gasped.

“Whooo there honey, you ok?” His lavender glasses were upside down, and he had been laughing with the group of guys snaking behind him into the hotel corridor.

Alex stepped back, dropping her clip board and then shaking off her stunned reaction to murmur a low “Fuck me baby Jesus,”  before knocking heads with the shaggy-haired singer as they both bent down to grab her things.

“Hey now, sugar, we keep meeting like this I reckon people round here ‘ll start to talk.” He smirked, grabbing Alex’s leather bound note book and clipboard, and handing it back to her with a dramatic flair.

She nodded. “Mhmmm, yeah, usually the slight graze of bare skin is quite the scandal here in Dayton, but since your business manager has been trying to fuck me since I walked into this joint twenty minutes ago, I think the newspapers will find that more titillating, don’t you think?”

Just then, Ellie and Randy emerged from the kitchen pushing the other two trolleys, and Alex held the door wide for them as she motioned them in front of her. Ellie’s jaw dropped as she recognized Elvis and tripped on herself as she moved through the door frame.

“Go right along kids, I’m behind you.”

“K Sasha!” Randy called back, as the sound of heavy trolleys moving over the hotel carpet echoed through the hallway.

One of the younger guys stepped forward to hold the door for Alex as she grabbed the her trolley and began to shuffle back wards, only to hit the white gaberdine fabric of Elvis jumpsuit, covered the arm he had swung down to stop her retreat.

“Now, hold on just a goddamn minute, what the hell’s goin’ on? Joe? Is that my food?”

Alex’s lithe body became a battering ram as she jolted into his arm.

“Oh, it’s just a classic failure to communicate scenario. Now,” she banged harder, dislodging his arm as he pulled it back in discomfort. “Thank you, we’ll be out of your hair in just a jiffy.”

Alex stuck a terse smile over her face, and turned to drive the trolley forward while Elvis looked back at Joe, then down at her, with a confused, hurt quizzical expression.  Two minutes later, she was pulling her cart into the freight elevator, only to see a long, wide hand grip the edge of the closing door and Elvis pushed his way in.

Alex looked up at him, pushing her glasses up at the bridge of her nose.

“No.”

“Honey, you don’t even know what I’m a gonna say.”

“Ok,” she sighed. “What are you gonna say?”

The elevator started to  move down and Alex got a better view of his taut, thick body, emphasized by the low  v neck cut of his jumpsuit that pushed up to his shoulders. Blotches of black eyeliner was smudged around his eyes, and Alex fought the urge to lick her thumb and lean up to wipe them away. She blushed as he grinned down at her, and then he fell forward over the top of the trolley toward her, resting his arms across it and then leaning his chin down in a pitiful sideways tilt.

“Don go, please sugar, bring that food back up. Joe’s getting your check ready right now. I told him six.”

Alex put her hand on her hip and quirked her mouth in a frown.

“Don’t do that. I just wanted the amount we had agreed on.” She looked up at the tiled, white lights above her, listening to the faint whir of the machinery lowering them to the bottom of the hotel.

Elvis had some how turned the tables on her, reading her like an open book that would respond to abject vulnerability as he leaned down on to the trolley and looked up at her with needy, pitiful eyes.

“OK, honey you the boss, just don’t let ol’ Joe’s repulsive manners drive you away. We are starving.  Got any food in there I could have right now? ‘fore I go shower?”

“Ughhhh. Ok.” Alex shook her head back up at the tiled lights, and looked Elvis in the eyes. The black eyeliner around them made them shine brighter and sparkle in the bright florescent light of the elevator.

“OK, you’ll come back up?” He grinned. "Or, ok Elvis I got something I can put in your mouth right now?”

“Both.” Alex exhaled exasperatedly.

When the elevator doors opened, Ellie and Randy were greeted to the sight of Alex giggling as she held out a mini quiche and Elvis smacked lips open, leaning closer over the metal top of the catering trolley. “Go ‘head, honey, throw it in. I don’t bite.” Then he gnashed his teeth as she put the quiche on his tongue. “Muuuck” he said, mouth full of food.

Alex immediately jerked back, her smile dropping to a serious look as she told the others to follow back upstairs in the next elevator because the gig was back on.

*****************************************************

It was well past 3 a.m. when they got to the van and loaded up the equipment. Alex held Ellie tight in her arms while Randy warmed up the car, squeezing her as she wished her a happy birthday.

“I’m sorry we didn’t celebrate your birthday tonight.” Alex smoothed Ellie’s beautiful blonde hair. At ten years older, she had a perpetual idea of her sister as a little kid, but she wasn’t, she lived with her boyfriend and worked in a daycare. Alex had wanted Ellie to get out of Dayton, have the life she hadn’t been able to pull off. There was still time.

“It’s ok, Sasha, we’ll go out tonight, and it was worth it. I got to meet Elvis, he gave me this diamond ring.” She flashed up a golden band with a square top covered in diamonds and black stones. “And, we made seven thousand dollars -”

“Oy vey, no wonder his manager is tight, I completely sympathize with that man now. Ok, well, we have some extra for drinks tonight then.”

Waving as Randy drove the big van off,  Alex went to her car, then kicked her tire as she realized she’d left her notebook upstairs. Standing up straight, she sighed and turned to drag her body back inside and up the elevator. She smiled at the young guy standing at the door of the Presidential suite, and he winked with recognition.

“Hey, um, everybody’s left - it’s just him, in there, and um —”

Alex pushed passed him, rubbing the boy’s arm. “Don’t worry, I just have to grab something quick, in and out.”

The suite was dark and she almost didn’t see the bodies on the living area couch as she quickly darted towards the kitchen.

“Hey, who’s there?”

Alex turned to see Elvis stagger up, a gun in his hand and a blonde reclining below him on the couch.

“Oh, god, fuck, I’m sorry, I left someth—”

Elvis wild demeanor softened as Alex walked closer and a grin radiated over his face. “Oh, it’s you, food honey baby. What wasss ya name….Satch ya, right?”

“Only my family gets to call me that. It’s Alex otherwise.”

“Sho baby, come here Satcha ya, come here! Come hang out…. this is, this is, what’s ya name honey?”

The blonde slurred as she fell back. “Cherrreeeeee.”

Elvis sat down, slipping his derringer into his black boot, and patting the seat next to him. “‘is is Carrie, Carrie baby, like the soong.”

45 minutes ago, as they had began packing up, Elvis had been alert and wide awake, demonstrating karate to his guests. She had smiled over at him in amusement at this and the other eccentricities he had participated in over the course of the night, including singing gospel music and lecturing people on his own interpretations of the bible. Elvis had particularly liked the brisket sliders and potato fingers they had made, and Alex had found him beguilingly charming when he snuck into the back area of the kitchen asking for her to feed them to him because they were so good he couldn’t bear to wait for her to re-plate them.

“Just slip ‘em into the old feedbag right here, darlin’. Hmmm. Ya pretty good with meat, aintcha? MMmhmmm MM!” Alex had shook her head with a playful grin as he flirtatiously sucked the brisket juice off her finger.

Now he was completely the opposite: subdued and lethargic. Alex came to sit by him, and he pulled her onto his lap while she watched the girl next to him fall over, passed out.

“Is she ok?”

Elvis looked at the woman next to him, and then back up at Alex.

“Oh yeaahhhhh, don a worry bout that chick, she jus took a sleeping pill. It’ll help her quiet down. Get closer to God”

Alex raised her eyebrow and shook her head, a knowing pull in her stomach told her this was probably a bad idea, but Elvis’ hands pulled her closer and she followed. She smoothed Elvis dark bangs across his forehead, thne parted her lips to blow some of the more stubborn hair wisps away. He took her hand and kissed it.

“Do it again. Please.”

“What?” Alex steadied her self against his shoulder, watching as his eyelips fluttered open and closed.

“Blow onnnn meEEE… baby, your cool breafff felt gooow…” he muttered, his eye lids became visible heavy and heaver, drooping half way down over his eyes.

Alex stood, pulling him behind her. “Hmmm, let’s get you to bed.”

He followed her as she led him back to the bedroom, his hands gripping her waist. Books and guns were scattered around, and a glass award stood on the top of the dresser. She wondered if he had been presented with something at the concert that night.

“Kneew it. Jus came back cuzz ya wanted ta see me neked…” he chuckled, nuzzling into Alex’s neck as she tried to politely create space between her body and his mouth. She felt the slight heat of attraction to him because Elvis was charming. And handsome. And funny. And totally fucked up. It made her feel as though she was taking advantage of a drunk puppy she had found on the side of the road.

“You got me. It was my plan all along” She pushed him back on to his bed and turned to go, but he grabbed her.

“Stay… stay baby, don’t make me sleep alone.”

Alex looked to the door, and heard the loud snoring came from the living room. At least I know she’s alive.

“What about… your friend out there?”

“Who?”

“Um, Cherry?”

“Oh yeah.” Elvis sat up, and pulled Alex by her waist to him. “You naughty girl, you wanna bring her in to bed too? Like for a three.—”  before he could finish, Elvis’ eyes closed, and he fell back on to the bed.

Alex sighed, pulling off his shoes, and putting the gun in his boot over on the dresser. She came back to drag him up further, and straighten him over the pillows. Unfortunately this roused Elvis again, and he grabbed her arm as she tried to unbutton the top of the paisley dress shirt he'd put on after his shower.

“Please baby, please. Don a go.” He kissed the palm of her hand softly, drawing her toward him. Alex nodded.

“Ok. But no funny business.”

Elvis bent his chin in assent, but then his eyes rolled back, followed by his head. Alex took off her shoes and her pants, and curled up on the bed, at first turned inward to watch the man she had grown up seeing in movies and television shows breath slow, labored breaths. At some point she drifted off her self from the exhaustion of the day, stirring slightly when she felt a pair of large hands grasp around her waist and pull her into the warm body behind her.

***************************************************************************************************

Thanks to my co-conspirators

@whositmcwhatsit​

@ellie-24

@missmaywemeetagain​

@be-my-ally​

@vintageshanny​

@from-memphis-with-love​​