#Shirley Taxi

[pn-james]

Croydon Car | Shirley Taxi

Croydon Car | Shirley Taxi

Croydon Car is your premier Shirley Taxi offering reliable and convenient transportation in and around the Croydon area. With a commitment to exceptional service, our fleet of vehicles and team of experienced drivers are dedicated to providing safe, comfortable, and punctual rides for our customers.

Name : Croydon Car Address : Croydon Cars & Couriers, 292 High Street, Croydon CR0 1NG, UK Phone : 020 8686 4000 Website : https://croydoncar.co.uk/shirley-minicabs/

Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61556312573949 Twitter : https://twitter.com/croydoncabsuk Instagram : https://www.instagram.com/croydoncar4u/ Youtube : https://www.youtube.com/@croydoncar Pinterest : https://ar.pinterest.com/croydoncabsuk/ Map : https://maps.app.goo.gl/zHp4EC7bRwiZ6QWX8 Quara : https://www.quora.com/profile/Croydon-Car-Minicabs-Service

[oldshowbiz]

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday on ABC

[seventyskid]

[beddingtonheathrowtransfer]

Shirley Minicabs Taxi Services at Express Couriers Cars you'll quickly find available taxi nearest to the area where you are and you can see on the screen in real time as you move the taxi. Moreover, for the first time in Croydon Express Couriers Cars launches Cost Control function through which you can ensure that at the end of a race Settle the right price.

We want to remain in your preferences, therefore we provide every day a car park that will provide prompt service, good quality, safety, comfort and efficiency. Thank use our services and we are at your orders. Transport services in regime TAXI which Express Couriers Cars offers to Croydon inhabitants, enjoys a good reputation and recognition in the market in the capital.

Shirley Minicabs Taxi

Shirley Minicabs Taxi

[scrittrice-dipagine-bianche]

Se domani non rispondo alle tue chiamate, mamma.

Se non ti dico che non torno a cena. Se domani, il taxi non appare.

Forse sono avvolta nelle lenzuola di un hotel, su una strada o in un sacco nero (Mara, Micaela, Majo, Mariana).

Forse sono in una valigia o mi sono persa sulla spiaggia (Emily, Shirley).

Non aver paura, mamma, se vedi che sono stata pugnalata (Luz Marina).

Non gridare quando vedi che mi hanno trascinata per i capelli (Arlette).

Cara mamma, non piangere se scopri che mi hanno impalata (Lucia).

Ti diranno che sono stata io, che non ho urlato abbastanza, che era il modo in cui ero vestita, l'alcool nel sangue.

Ti diranno che era giusto, che ero da sola.

Che il mio ex psicopatico aveva delle ragioni, che ero infedele, che ero una puttana.

Ti diranno che ho vissuto, mamma, che ho osato volare molto in alto in un mondo senza aria.

Te lo giuro, mamma, sono morta combattendo.

Te lo giuro, mia cara mamma, ho urlato tanto forte quanto ho volato in alto.

Ti ricorderai di me, mamma, saprai che sono stata io a rovinarlo quando avrai di fronte tutte le donne che urleranno il mio nome.

Perché lo so, mamma, tu non ti fermerai.

Ma, per carità, non legare mia sorella.

Non rinchiudere le mie cugine, non limitare le tue nipoti.

Non è colpa tua, mamma, non è stata nemmeno mia.

Sono loro, saranno sempre loro.

Lotta per le vostre ali, quelle ali che mi hanno tagliato.

Lotta per loro, perché possano essere libere di volare più in alto di me.

Combatti perché possano urlare più forte di me.

Perché possano vivere senza paura, mamma, proprio come ho vissuto io.

Mamma, non piangere le mie ceneri.

Se domani sono io, se domani non torno, mamma, distruggi tutto.

Se domani tocca a me, voglio essere l'ultima.

[dandelionpixels]

eleventh doctor x reader x river

(romantic)

ask: Hi! I was wondering if I could request a Reader X Doctor (11) X River kinda Drabble where the doctor meets the reader for the first time and the reader realizes this is the ‘friend’ River was trying to hook them up with? Thank you and keep up the amazing work 😁

- It takes an unbelievable amount of effort on River’s end to arrange the ‘coincidental’ meeting.

- She begs you to come with her to a fancy dance, promising you don’t have to stay long and that it’ll be fun.

- At the same time, she sends multiple messages to the Doctor, praying they’ll find him in time. They all say there’s a possible invasion threat, and that he needs to be at the venue on this date, dressed to be undercover.

Which explains her usual carefree attitude being slightly dampened as she rushes around your house, getting ready for the party. Checking times, then her phone, then your outfit, then her phone again.

You’re a little excited, despite your insistence that you’re only doing it to satiate River. It’s the routine of getting ready, it’s fun. You smile to yourself and River points at you through the mirror, “I knew it! It’s gonna be fun, don’t you trust me?”

River is beautiful as ever, a dark green dress making her hair look brighter than ever. She drapes her arms over your shoulders as you sit in front of the mirror, “You look wonderful. Ready?” You nod and the two of you head for the event, taking a taxi to avoid having to drive home.

A couple minutes after you get in, River disappears. She never means to leave you but a party is her environment, to socialize and have fun and order complicated drinks. She always gets drawn in by a crowd, so you smile as she gets led away by a lady in a purple dress. Heading for the bar, you lean against the counter and order just a soda. Keeping an eye on River seems like a decent reason to stay sober for tonight.

You hear the man beside you order a Shirley Temple and can’t help but smile slightly. Shooting him a slight glance, you notice a couple things. Firstly, he’s wearing a bright bow-tie which is not bad… but definitely interesting. Secondly, he’s absolutely got a pair of binoculars stuffed in his pocket.

As his drink gets set in front of him, you keep watching out of curiosity. He downs it in almost one gulp and sets it down with a grin plastered on his face. You’d think he’d never had one before.

You decide to say something, pointing at his empty glass, “Nice drink choice.”

His face falls slightly and you can’t help but laugh, “No- I’m sorry- I wasn’t making fun. I seriously think it’s a nice drink order.”

Grabbing one of the cherries to ear, his face returns to its previous grin. The expression almost seems familiar, but you really doubt you’d know anyone besides River at the party. Brushing his hair out of his face, he sticks out a hand, “I’m- uh-,” He’s clearly rethinking giving his name, “It’s pleasure to meet you.”

You take his hand, “Nice to meet you too, I’m.” You cut your sentence off, mimicking his lack of a name. He smiles and he almost looks bashful. It’s endearing, like the Shirley Temple. Earnest and endearing.

Before you can continue talking, he gasps slightly and hides his face behind his hands. You let out a confused laugh, “You good?”

He nods hurriedly and peeks through his fingers, “I thought I saw… it’s nothing. Have you noticed anything weird tonight? Like really weird?”

Resisting the urge to point directly at him, you glance around, catching a glimpse of River’s hair bouncing on the dance floor. You shake your head, “Not really, are you on the run or something?”

He shakes his head, “I’m- it’s complicated.”

You raise your eyebrows, “I can keep a secret.”

Looking around and then back to you, he speaks softly, “I’m undercover, doing surveillance.”

Nodding, you know you should probably think he’s crazy. But weirder things have happened in the last couple years, so you decide to buy it, “You’re not doing a great job blending in over here, no offense. Normal people at parties usually, y’know, dance.”

He nods solemnly, and then ducks his head shyly again, “People tell me I’m not a great dancer.”

You stand, offering him your hand, “C’mon mystery man, let’s not blow your cover.”

Taking your hand gently, he stands as well, letting you lead him onto the dance floor. You move past a couple people but stay closer to the end, and pull him closer. He does a wonderful impression of a boy at his first school dance, hands hovering over your waist.

“I-,”

Shooting him a look, you wrap your arms around his neck. It’s braver than you usually are, but something about the familiarity of his face and his shy demeanor has made you unbelievably bold. He surrenders, letting his hands rest on your waist, thought admittedly stiffly.

Starting to sway softly, you realize he may not have been being dramatic about his dancing skills. He’s somehow swaying in the opposite direction. You move your hands from his neck to his waist, adjusting him until he’s somewhat in sync. Moving your arms back up, you smile slightly, “Not so hard, right?” He’s clearly focused on keeping track of his dancing and just mumbles in agreement. Endearing again.

After a couple minutes, you hear an instantly recognizable silky smooth voice to your right.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Both you and your dancing partner drop your hands and turn to face her.

“River?”

“River!”

Both of you look at each other, and then back at River for an explanation. She smiles coyly, gesturing between the both of you, “See, I knew my matchmaking skills weren’t rusty! Honey, meet the Doctor. Doctor, meet my honey.”

You spin to face each other, mouth open, “I knew I recognized you. River’s been trying to set me up with you for months.”

His mouth drops open as well, frowning slightly, “There’s no alien invasion, is there?”

You pause, thrown off your rhythm, “I- I have no idea.”

River pats him on the shoulder, “I’m sorry my love, no alien invasion.”

Her face lights up, “Wasn’t I right? You guys are great. Blushing faces, nervous hands, the start to every great story.”

You flush an even deeper red and glance up at the Doctor, who’s doing the same.

Blowing the both of you a kiss, River returns to her previous crowd, going back to dancing like nothing had happened.

You look up, taking a breath to steady your breathing, “Would you like to go back to the bar and get two Shirley Temples?”

He cocks his head to the side, clearly confused, “Two, but I-“ You point between the two of you and his face shifts into understanding, “-Oh! Yes- I’ll- Let’s go.”

[aci-daaa]

Se domani non rispondo alle tue chiamate, mamma. Se non ti dico che sto per cenare. Se domani, mami, non vedi arrivare il taxi.

Forse sono avvolta nelle lenzuola di un hotel, su una strada o in un sacco nero (Mara, Micaela, Majo, Mariana). Forse sono in una valigia o mi sono persa sulla spiaggia (Emily, Shirley).

Non aver paura, mamma, se vedi che sono stata pugnalata (Luz Marina). Non gridare quando vedi che mi hanno trascinata (Arlette [Giulia]). Mamma, non piangere se scopri che mi hanno impalata (Lucia).

Ti diranno che sono stata io, che non ho urlato, che sono stata io per com’ero vestita, perché avevo alcool nel sangue. Ti diranno che ero in giro la sera tardi, che ero da sola. Che il mio ex psicopatico aveva le sue ragioni, che gli ero stata infedele, che ero una puttana.

Ti diranno che ho vissuto, mamma, che ho osato volare molto in alto in un mondo senz’aria.

Ti giuro, mamma, che sono morta combattendo. Ti giuro che ho urlato tanto forte mentre volavo.

Lui si ricorderà di me, ma’, saprà che sono stata io a rovinarlo quando avrà di fronte il volto di tutte quelle che urleranno il mio nome. Perché lo so, mamma, che non ti fermerai.

Però

te lo chiedo per quello che ami di più al mondo,

non trattenere mia sorella. Non rinchiudere in casa le mie cugine. Non privare le tue nipoti. Non è stata colpa tua, mamma, non è stata nemmeno mia. Sono loro, saranno sempre loro.

Lotta per le ali, quelle ali che a me hanno tarpato. Lotta per loro, che possano essere libere di volare più in alto di me.

Combatti perché urlino più forte di me. Possano vivere senza paura, mamma, proprio come ho vissuto io.

Mamita, non piangere sulle mie ceneri.

Se domani sono io, mamma, se domani non torno, distruggi tutto.

Se domani tocca a me, voglio essere l’ultima.

-Fonte Facebook

[justforbooks]

Tony Lo Bianco

American actor who fitted naturally into the 70s trend for gritty crime thrillers as a brute with a twinkle in his eye

The American actor Tony Lo Bianco, who has died of cancer aged 87, specialised in hoods and heavies, often played with an uncommon twinkle in the eye that suggested he was in on some grim private joke. “I guess I’ll have to do a nun next,” he said after a run of such roles.

There was never any doubt that he meant business. “If you encountered Tony in a deserted alley at midnight, you’d be inclined to hand him your wallet before he asked for it,” wrote a US newspaper in 1978.

With his conspiratorial manner, imposing stare and tractor-tyre eyebrows, Lo Bianco fitted naturally into the 70s trend for gritty crime thrillers. As the mobster Sal Boca in The French Connection (1971), he is pursued by the New York cop “Popeye” Doyle (Gene Hackman) for his role in buying a massive shipment of heroin. The Seven-Ups (1973) reunited Lo Bianco with his friend and French Connection co-star Roy Scheider, and gave him a bigger bite of the cherry, this time as a shady police informer in a camel-hair coat and sharp hat.

His first major role had already proved he was more eccentric than any rent-a-thug. In The Honeymoon Killers (1970), which was inspired by real events, he played the silver-tongued Spanish con-artist Ray Fernandez, who embarks on a murder spree with a lonely woman whom he tries to swindle. Martin Scorsese was sacked as the film’s director for dragging his feet, but the end result (with the composer and librettist Leonard Kastle stepping in after Scorsese’s exit) has a sizzling, unwholesome B-movie tang, due in no small part to Lo Bianco’s oleaginous presence and his rapport with Shirley Stoler as his partner-in-crime.

Most of his finest screen work was done in the 70s. He was a police detective investigating seemingly random murders in the supernatural horror God Told Me To, and an injured, suicidal former rodeo rider raising his young sons in Glory Days, AKA Goldenrod (both 1976).

Bloodbrothers (1978), in which Lo Bianco was all gruffness and gristle as an Italian-American construction worker pressuring his recalcitrant son (Richard Gere) to follow in his footsteps, was especially dear to him. “It’s very close to my heart,” he said. “I know the characters like I know my family.”

In the same year, he was a surprisingly genial crime boss opposite Sylvester Stallone in the union drama F.I.S.T. “Sure, I could have played [him] as one more Italian thug,” he reflected. “But does the world really need another overbearing, obnoxious, obvious slob to dismiss or look down on as some kind of buffoon?”

Lo Bianco attributed his facility as an actor partly to his upbringing. “Coming from an Italian family in a big city, my emotions were always close to the surface, ready to live life fully, to give, to laugh and cry without holding back, without strain.”

He was born in New York City to Carmelo, a taxi driver, and Sally (nee Blando). One of his teachers at William E Grady high school suggested he give acting a go, though his early passions were largely sporting ones. As a teenager, he tried out for the Brooklyn Dodgers, and was also a Golden Gloves welterweight boxer. “I guess you’d say I was a borderline delinquent. It was the 50s, Elvis time, leather jackets, a time for being tough.”

Years later, he would step back into the ring to play the boxer Rocky Marciano in the television biopic Marciano (1979). He returned to the same story, again for TV, in Rocky Marciano (1999), this time as the gangster-turned-promoter Frankie Carbo opposite Jon Favreau as the prizefighter.

Lo Bianco studied acting at the Dramatic Workshop in Manhattan in the late 50s, and founded the Weekend Theater there in order to gain experience. “I built the sets, the stage, and put in the lighting. I got it going.” He did the same in 1963 with the Triangle Theater, where he also served as artistic director. It was here that he first met Scheider.

He accumulated numerous credits on television, including a recurring role between 1971 and 1973 as a doctor in the long-running soap opera Love of Life, and on stage: in 1975, he won an Obie (an award for an off-Broadway performance) for his portrayal of a fading baseball star in Yanks-3 Detroit-0, Top of the Seventh. He also won a Tony for playing the tormented longshoreman Eddie Carbone in A View from the Bridge in 1983.

Appearing in the Italian caper Mean Frank and Crazy Tony (1973) immediately after his success in The French Connection, Lo Bianco seemed to be spoofing his own image when it was still in its infancy: he played a none-too-bright crook who idolises a legendary gangster (Lee Van Cleef). But the actor re-asserted his authority on television in the anthology series Police Story (1973-76). He was one of only a handful of cast members who appeared in more than one episode. Even more unusually, he was on the right side of the law this time.

In Franco Zeffirelli’s mini-series Jesus of Nazareth (1977), he was Quintillius, who advises Pontius Pilate, played by Rod Steiger. A year later, also on television, he starred in The Last Tenant as a man dealing with the increasing needs of his senile, irascible father, played by the acting guru Lee Strasberg. In the 80s he won plaudits for a TV adaptation of Paul Shyre’s play Hizzoner!, in which he starred as the New York mayor Fiorello La Guardia. This spawned several spin-offs, including La Guardia and The Little Flower, written by Lo Bianco and performed by him across the world at the start of this century.

Notable later roles include a mafia boss in the lighthearted, 30s-set Clint Eastwood/Burt Reynolds vehicle City Heat (1984), a corrupt property developer in John Sayles’s ensemble drama City of Hope (1991), the ivory-haired mobster Johnny Roselli in Oliver Stone’s Nixon (1995), and yet another intimidating gangster in The Juror (1996), with Demi Moore and Alec Baldwin.

Like Robert De Niro, for whom he was sometimes mistaken, it seemed there was nowhere left to go but comedy after playing so many crooks. Having parodied himself at the very start of his film career, Lo Bianco did so again in Mafia! (1998), also known as Jane Austen’s Mafia!, a send-up from some of the team behind the Airplane! and Naked Gun spoof series.

Though he directed to acclaim on stage, he made only one film, the slasher movie Too Scared to Scream (1984). His final picture was Somewhere in Queens (2022), starring and directed by Ray Romano, in which Lo Bianco played the main character’s standoffish father.

He is survived by his third wife, Alyse (nee Muldoon), a writer, whom he married in 2015, two daughters, Yummy and Nina, from his first marriage, to the actor Dora Landey (Anna, a third daughter from that marriage, died in 2006), a brother, John, and six grandchildren. Both his previous marriages – the second was to Elizabeth Natwick – ended in divorce.

🔔 Anthony Lo Bianco, actor, born 19 October 1936; died 11 June 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[burntlikethesun]

Fic: First Day

Donna Noble embarks on her first day at UNIT, 10 weeks after we left her at the end of The Giggle.

Donna had opted to use the tube for her first day. Did UNIT Tower have an underground carpark? She made a mental note to ask someone. If she was going to be saving the planet every week, she felt she deserved a commute that didn’t involve standing with her face in someone’s armpit.

Maybe she could have her own personal driver- no, that would be pushing it. She could still barely believe she’d talked her way into a £120k a year job when this time last year she was doing admin on a fixed term contract for a recruitment company which made them all fork out for their own Christmas party. Now she was a permanent employee of an international organisation defending the Earth!

She had taken a while to agree on a start date - first of all her house had been demolished in an alien skirmish, so she felt like she needed to be settled in her new home before embracing her new role as Consultant Advisor under Kate Stewart. She did feel slightly nervous about the responsibility awaiting her, but she had done so much already that surely the only difference was now she was being financially compensated for her efforts. She had been sent a welcome pack in the post, containing her contract for signing and the company handbook that had some old country house emblazoned on the cover. Very National Trust, apart from the almost comical wooden sign reading ‘Ministry of Defence. U.N.I.T. Headquarters. KEEP OUT.’. Clearly they needed to update their marketing materials, now they sit at the top of a swish skyscraper in central London, complete with a helipad, and according to Shirley, the best coffee machine this side of the Milky Way.

The house had been quiet as she left that morning. Shaun was dead to the world after a late night taxi shift, and Sylvia had taken Wilf to visit Minnie. The Doctor, having made himself a resident of her back garden, had recently begun reaching out to old friends, now that he had an address to visit. She was charmed to meet Ace, bemused by the robot dog trundling alongside her, and Tegan made her hoot with laughter when she gave the Doctor a dressing down for saying she used to complain a lot. Jo Jones had embraced her so enthusiastically that she knocked her mother’s favourite vase off a table (thank God, it looked hideous), and she’d been overjoyed to host a raucous wine night when Martha finally found out about her getting her memories back and rushed round with a bag of clinking bottles to make up for lost time.

This morning there was a square patch on the grass which the TARDIS had vacated the previous day, as the Doctor had decided to pay a visit to an elderly couple named Ben and Polly in India, and a time space machine is less hassle than Heathrow. Rose had begged to go too but Donna had reminded her that she had mocks soon, and last time she’d gone on a daytrip with the Doctor she’d missed a week of school as they’d ended up in Ancient Athens, returning with their tails between their legs. As consolation, she let Rose stay overnight with another girl from school to revise for their exams. She was doing her A Levels but was disengaged outside of Art and Design. Maybe UNIT had a work experience program? Not out in the field of course, she didn’t want to encourage that; maybe they needed a new logo designing, or a rethink on their uniforms. She could see Rose sketching out a new look for the troops, the current all black look didn’t compare to the chic red berets she remembered from the ATMOS factory. Although knowing Rose’s taste they’d end up all furry with googly eyes on their helmets and pipe cleaners and pom poms on their chests. Maybe not, then.

Walking through the automatic shining glass doors stamped with the organisation’s insignia, Donna’s stomach threatened to do backflips. She refused to let misplaced imposter syndrome spoil this for her. She’d saved the universe, every universe, for crying out loud. If she could survive being locked in with rabid Ood, sneak through a Sontaran battleship undetected, deduct that a generations-long war had only lasted a week, and outthink the Not-things, she was ready for whatever life working for UNIT could throw at her.

“Hello, darling!”, a voice sang out, and Donna looked across the reception area and saw a familiar mane of red hair. “I came down to meet you!” beamed Mel. 

“You’ve not come to let me down gently then?” Donna laughed, still slightly nervous, but the butterflies inside her calming in the presence of her friend.

“Don’t be ridiculous, come on, let's get you set up upstairs.”, Mel said, whisking her briskly to the lifts, waving to the receptionist to let them through the security barriers. “There’s so much to do! We need to get your photo ID pass sorted, your hair looks gorgeous by the way, and - oh you’ve arrived just in time, our Shadow Proclamation liaison is off sick and we’ve had communication last night from the Judoon that they need jurisdiction to arrest a minor royal for trafficking Graskes - complete crisis. Kate’s on it but needs support arranging rendition.”

“Judoon? Space Rhinos, yoyo velcro tesco fomo; we’re already acquainted.” Donna replied as the doors slid open with a soft ‘ding’. “Let me at ‘em”.

[whositmcwhatsit]

An Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

Chapter One Chapter Two

Summary: Like a lot of girls, Chancy Crawford had once been able to call herself one of Elvis's girlfriends, but that was long time ago. Now, she called herself his friend, or his 'cousin' if any of his girlfriends asked. It was just easier that way. And their relationship was all about being comfortable and easy. Until she gets asked to come and join a tour that seems endless and cursed. Warnings: swearing, drug use, smut, angst, violence, temper tantrums, all the usual.

Chapter Three: Good Little Girl The tour continues and Chancy continues to enjoy, fret and marvel at the ride. Surprisingly fluffy (for me) with a bit of smut. I have been so overwhelmed by the response to my little comfort blanket of a story. Thank you to everyone who has liked, messaged, reblogged, or even just read it! You make my day brighter! ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Yet another airport, and Chancy had already forgotten the name of the city when she entwined her fingers with Elvis’ and gave them a squeeze as the plane taxied up the runway ready for take-off. She marvelled at how he and the rest of the band and crew coped with touring, particularly the one-nighters where they landed, slept, performed and left before their bodies could even register that they had stopped.

The world outside the windows of planes, cars and hotels could get very blurry, distorted and unreal. The only thing that seemed to be in focus was what was right in front of you. For Chancy, that was Elvis. She wondered what it was for him. 

It was a short flight that they spent making out in the bedroom suite at the back of the plane. Chancy had no doubt that some of the guys were already muttering about how much of Elvis’s time she was monopolising, as if anyone but Elvis could be blamed for what he did.

As the plane began its descent, they returned to the Star Trek seats and Chancy held out her hand before Elvis had to reach for it. He met her eyes and looked so grateful that she had to swallow a lump from her throat.

“I should’ve gone to the bathroom before,” she said to make conversation and keep him distracted. “Put myself back to rights. I must look just like I’ve been rolling around on a bed for a couple of hours.”

“A little,” he admitted with a crooked, boyish smile. “You’re getting those curls back. Boy, I missed ‘em.” He reached across with his free hand and tugged at a ringlet by her ear.

“Well, I don’t miss being called Slinky Head and Shirley Temple,” she returned, poking the curl behind her ear. He pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh as his eyes twinkled.

“Yeah, you can laugh because that was mainly you,” she snapped with no real fire. “And you know that once you call someone a name it just sticks like glue.”

“Sweet darlin’ Slinky Head,” he cooed, his voice quivering before he burst into loud laughter. She shook her head, but she couldn’t stop herself from beaming. It’s all her face wanted to do.

When they emerged from the plane, it was dark and raining and the pressure on Chancy’s brow told her that there was a thunderstorm on the way, but there were still a couple of dozen people standing at the fence. Elvis gave them a wave before he climbed into the waiting limo.

At the hotel, Chancy followed them all into Elvis’s suite, which was prepared and set up the way he liked it: dark, cold and cave-like.

Red was explaining where the venue was, how big it was, what the stage looked like, all things that held importance to people who weren’t Chancy. She thought she would take the opportunity to slip out and find Jerry to get her room key and her things. The little fresh air she had got stepping into and out of cars had reminded her that she had barely any sleep the night before and she was beginning to feel heavy and slow.

Jerry was in his usual place in the hallway, admonishing Ricky that mini bars were for people who paid for their own goddamn hotel rooms and were over twenty-one.

“This isn’t a damn frat house!” he called as Ricky rushed past with luggage.

“You might want to get that made up as a pamphlet,” Chancy remarked. “Especially for the older guys.”

“Oh hey, Chancy,” he said, turning. “What can I do for you?”

“Just getting my key,” she sighed. Jerry blinked the longest blink a person had ever taken.

“Uh, I- I don’t have a key for you. I was told you’re staying with- you’re with the Boss.”

Chancy blinked too, because all the thoughts and emotions rushed her at once and she couldn’t quite cope with them and less important functions like opening her eyes at the same time. 

“No, there’s been some kind of mistake,” she said with a smile, the panic hiding behind her teeth. “I need a room, Jerry.”

“Uh…” He smiled too automatically and handed off a key to one of the guys walking past with a shoulder full of suits in drycleaning bags. “I can look into it for you.”

His words were a promise, but his tone was a refusal. She was about to fight the futility and press harder when Sonny appeared at her shoulder.

“Hey, why’d you leave? Boss wants you.”

Chancy looked between the two men and heaved a sigh, before biting her lip and following Sonny back to Elvis’s room.

The rest of the guys had cleared out and Elvis was kneeling by the television, flicking through the channels. She couldn’t even see what the picture was before he flicked to the next one.

“Where’d you go, lil’ Slinky head?” he asked over his shoulder. Despite the words, his tone was not playful.

“I went to turn back time to before I reminded you about that stupid nickname,” she replied, stopping at the end of the sofa.

“I’m only fooling around,” he replied. “You gotta stop this sneaking off though, baby. Every time I turn around you’re gone. Like a damn ghost.”

“Sorry, I thought you were busy, so I-”

“I was busy, but busy don’t mean I don’t want you here with me. C’mon and sit down next to me.” He held out a hand to her and she took it, perching beside him as they both sat on the sofa.

“Elvis, I was just speaking to Jerry and he said I don’t have a room.”

“Sure you have a room.” He lifted his arm to encompass everything around them.

“I meant a room of my own.”

“Well, it’s just that it’s kind of silly, ain’t it, having two rooms? We gonna keep going back and forth all the time? Might as well just have the one.” His eyes were fixed on the television and his voice was a little too casual.

“That seems like a decision that I should’ve had some say in,” she murmured, torn between wanting to keep him happy and not wanting to lay down and be steamrollered. She had seen that happen to too many too many times before.

“You know how that would’ve gone, Cha-Cha. You’d have thought about it and thought about it and gone round in little circles, trying to be a good girl, and we both know how it would’ve ended up. We’re supposed to be together, honey.” He sighed and stood up.

“I’m going to the bathroom, you gonna be here when I get back or do I have to make you come with me?” She glared up at him. “I’m only kidding, relax.” He bopped her on the nose with his finger as he passed by and she seethed.

The childish part of her wanted to skip out, go find Sandi and Charlie and let him come out to an empty room to show him what she thought about his controlling ways. It would be satisfying for a sweet minute until she had to face the consequences of the stunt. And, as always, she had to consider the show that would be happening in a few hours. She wasn’t going to be the reason thousands of people came to see a show where Elvis was off his game.

Before he could return, the door to the room opened at the same time as someone tapped on it, which seemed to be the wrong order of events to Chancy. She hadn’t even considered how everyone and their neighbour had access to Elvis’s room and this sudden realisation heated up her thoughts until they were broiling.

“E ordered dinner,” said Lamar, glancing round the room as he wheeled in the trolley. She nodded towards the bathroom, which satisfied him.

Well-trained, she addressed the trolley, setting out the condiments and glasses and cutlery on the coffee table. There were several different covered plates, she lifted the covers to find the usual bacon, fried potatoes, sweet rolls, black-eyes peas, and so on. She wondered how they managed to rustle up these kinds of meals in the middle of the Midwest.

“Finally!” said Elvis behind her. “I’m starving.” She didn’t respond.

When he came round the sofa, he was wearing pyjamas and a robe. He dropped down next to her on the sofa, close enough that his arm brushed hers as they both reached for the plates. She noted with a humourless smile that she had the exact same meal as his, just a quarter of the size.

Elvis was trying to be sweet, pouring her a drink and getting her a blanket from the bed because he knew that his preferred room temperature was another person’s idea of a trip to the Arctic Circle.

Chancy was less sweet, but still trying, thanking him for his thoughtfulness. It was like a new play where the cast hadn’t memorised the lines yet and the director was wondering whether it would ever make it to opening night.

It also didn’t help that one of the main leads had no idea he was supposed to be performing altogether. Elvis always ate like his house was on fire and he needed to finish his meal before he called for help, but he was usually neat and well-mannered about it. Chancy shifted slightly in her seat as his elbow collided with hers for the third or fourth time.

“Sorry, baby,” he mumbled, going to put his hand on her knee, but missing the first time around. 

“Are you okay?”

“Hmm, yeah, just a little tired.” He shook his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts, but this didn’t seem to help as he reached out for his drink and knocked it over.

“Shit, motherfucking glass got a mind of its own.” 

Chancy jumped up and grabbed a handful of paper napkins, dabbing up the puddle before it dripped onto the carpet.

“Leave it, baby, leave it. Someone… I’ll get someone to…” He tried to rise, but only managed to lurch back onto the sofa.

“It’s fine. Orange juice stains if you don’t get to it quick,” she said, wondering even as she spoke why she was bothering. Even clear-headed, Elvis Presley did not have to worry about stains.

With a grim sinking sensation in her gut, she finished mopping up the mess and started collecting the plates and other items, putting them back on the trolley. Behind her, Elvis was still and quiet and, though she didn’t have the courage to check, she thought he might have fallen asleep.

The coffee table cleared, she dared a look over her shoulder to find him watching her, his head resting tilted against the back of the sofa, and a sweet, loving smile on his face.

“You about done there, Mommy?” he remarked with a hiccupping laugh. She wanted to be mad at him, to convey how much he was scaring at her with his pill-taking and unpredictability, but how could she do that when he was looking at her like that? “You wanna help put your baby to bed?”

With a groan, Elvis heaved himself up and Chancy provided the counterbalance to keep him on his feet. He didn’t let go of her hand when he threw his arm around her shoulders, almost throttling her with the crook of her own elbow. Somehow, they made it across to the bed, no thanks to Elvis, who was nuzzling her face and hair. She could feel sweat trickling down her spine as they collapsed together onto the mattress.

“Whoa, you’re strong, Cha-Cha! I didn’t know you were so strong,” Elvis mumbled in a small, breathless voice.

“I’m a farm girl, remember,” she replied, rolling free and taking in a deep breath.

Elvis reached across and dragged her back towards him, saying something she couldn’t make out. Within seconds, he was asleep, snoring quietly into her ear, smothering her like a blanket.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next thing she knew, she was being jarred from perfect, black silence by someone gripping her hip and rocking her roughly.

“C’mon, baby, time to get up!”

Chancy inhaled sharply, disorientated, and not entirely convinced that she wasn’t falling from something. Her squinting, gritty eyes took in Elvis as he moved around the room, humming to himself.

“What time is it?” she croaked, clearing her throat. The ache in her limbs led her to believe that she hadn’t slept very long, but seeing him so energetic and alert didn’t make sense.

“Nearly five, I think,” he replied. He climbed up onto the bed behind her, sliding in to spoon her as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and licked her dry lips.

“Still tired, baby?” His voice in her ear sent tingles down to her core, but they were muted by her exhaustion. If she had been asked to choose between him and sleep right then, she wasn’t sure what her answer would be.

“Hmm, a little,” she murmured, reaching up to stroke his arm.

“You want me to give you something to help?” It took her a moment to realise what he was asking, and as she did she also understood how he had regained his energy.

“I’ll be fine,” she said quickly, dragging herself up and out of his arms. His voice was studiedly casual as he replied:

“Okay, well, you let me know if you change your mind.”

Chancy surveyed the room, noting that the food trolley from earlier was gone, which suggested that other people had been in the room while she was out. She really didn’t feel comfortable about that, but it was a fact of life for Elvis and she had never had cause to really think about it before. She started as he came to her side, eyes fixed on her in a way that most women would have found overwhelming.

“After the show tonight,” he said gently, “we’re gonna have a proper talk, you and me.” She was nodding along with him, her arms wrapped around herself. “But, until then, honey, I need you to go get ready. This place is going to be full of guys in a matter of minutes and I ain’t having any of them catching sight of anything that’s meant only for me.” He slid his finger under her chin and tilted her face up so that he could plant a sweet, chaste kiss on her lips.

Before he had even stepped back, she surged forward, burying her face in his neck. He was so warm and all-encompassing; heart enough for both of them indeed.

“C’mon now,” he murmured, his voice lighter, she could hear his smile. “You’re fixing to get me all revved up before I gotta work.”

Chancy took the world’s fastest shower, which was so out of character she half-expected some sort of award ceremony when she emerged from the bathroom.

Elvis hadn’t been exaggerating, the room was a swarm of activity with guys bringing in plastic covered suits for him to choose from, his hairdresser setting up in one corner, and Charlie running over the set list in case Elvis wanted to add in something new that they needed to prepare.

“Hey CC,” Jerry said. “I got the room next door, and it’s all ready for you to… do whatever.” Which was at least a friendly way to be told to get out, she reflected. She nodded and grabbed her make-up and hairdryer, walking to the door.

At the last minute, she glanced over her shoulder at Elvis. His back to her, he was studying two of his suits as Ricky held them up helpfully. She thought back to his words earlier about her disappearing and wondered whether he would consider this one of those times. Better safe than sorry.

“You always look so amazing in dark blue,” she murmured into the back of his shoulder. He half-turned, his face lit up by a boyish little smile and his eyebrow raised. “I’m going next door while the magic happens.” She tugged a little on his arm until he leant down enough for her to kiss his cheek, simultaneously giving his ass a little pinch.

As she returned to collect her things from Jerry, who was tempering his grin, she heard Elvis say:

“Well, c’mon then, you heard the lady!”

In Jerry’s sparse bathroom, Chancy smiled at her reflection, but did not really see it. Instead, she was seeing Elvis’s face as she left and the pleasure she knew that she had put there. It was an empowering feeling. Then, sighing, she focussed on the person standing in front of her. She looked pale and drawn, the brown of her eyes blending into the dark shadows underneath. Sighing, she opened her make-up bag and began to apply the layers.

At the first sight of Elvis clad in his midnight blue stage suit, Chancy’s stomach did a little flip. It was tight around the middle like most of his clothes at the moment, but the colour complemented his dark hair and pale skin beautifully, and made his eyes glow blue.

“I’m a genius,” she reflected, walking over to where he was shuffling his feet nervously. “You look so good, honey.”

“Hmm, thank you, darlin’, so do you.” He grabbed her chin and pulled her in for a kiss, but his eyes were everywhere except on her. She could feel the tension thrumming inside him. His hair was already damp with sweat and it was glistening on his chest. She watched him gulp down the water that Jerry handed him and realised that she had not had anything to drink since she had woken. It occurred to her that she was desperately thirsty, but when she went to walk across to the dining table where there was a case of bottled water, Elvis grabbed her wrist so fast she thought she was being mugged.

“Where you goin’?”

“To get some water. I’m thirsty.” She winced at her tone, hearing the irritation clearly, and several of the guys had too from the suddenly blank expressions on their faces. Luckily, Elvis was far too distracted to hear tone and he just offered her his bottle.

In the car, Chancy made the most of the dark to close her aching eyes. She was careful to not actually drift off, even though Elvis and the rest of the guys decided to launch into some sweet gospel to warm up on the way over. At one point, Elvis reached over to take the new bottle of water she had swiped off the hotel room table before leaving and she started, caught out.

“Think we bored Cha-Cha to sleep, fellas,” he observed, drinking her water.

“I was listening!” she protested.

“Just resting your eyes, right?” Joe teased. She made a very loud snoring noise in response.

“Sorry, Joe, what was that?” They snickered and Chancy felt Elvis slide his hand between her thighs. She immediately clamped them together, gritting her teeth as his oversized rings jabbed into the soft skin.

“Ow, goddamn bear trap!” he hissed in her ear playfully. “I was just trying to keep you awake.”

“Oh, I’m very much awake, sweetheart,” she replied. She squeezed harder.

“Shit, Cha-Cha! I gotta play the guitar in a minute!” he yelped. In a panic, she relaxed her legs, only for him to immediately slip his hand higher, his fingertips brushing the front of her underwear as he cackled. The bottle of water disappeared as she grabbed at his arm, elbowing Joe in the ribs on the other side of her in the process.

“What in the hell is going on back there?!” Lamar queried as Joe groaned, Chancy shrieked and Elvis just laughed harder.

“Big surprise, Crazy is acting crazy,” Chancy grumbled, tugging down her skirt.

“Right, that’s it!” Elvis bellowed, turning and grabbing her from so many different angles in so many places she was convinced he had grown extra arms.

“Damn it, let me out! I’ll just walk!” Joe cried.

“We’re coming up on the entrance,” Lamar called as a warning.

Chancy tried to hold in her sigh of relief. She knew that when Elvis was hyped up like this, there was no telling what he could do, or what crazy idea might cross his over-stimulated mind. It didn’t pay to be the focus of his attention at times like that.

“This ain’t over,” he mumbled in her ear, settling himself back into the seat and spreading his hand over her knee. She tried to keep her face pleasant as the flashbulbs started to go off, besieging the interior of the car with light. Elvis lifted up a hand to wave that also somewhat shaded his eyes, ever the well-experienced professional.

At the stage door, there were about a hundred fans, along with a local news crew to capture the moment of Elvis stepping out of the car. Red, Joe, Dick, and Sonny crowded in to make sure no one got too close or too handsy, their ever-vigilant eyes sweeping the huddle of mainly women from early teens to late thirties, looking for dark assailants.

Chancy climbed out after the main attraction, smiling at no one in particular. Lamar had his hand underneath her elbow, trying to guide her without really putting hands on her. It was such a pantomime that she wanted to roll her eyes, but her role required her to be happy yet unseen.

“You look beautiful!” Chancy turned in the direction of the voice just behind her shoulder. A lady with large green eyes and cropped red hair was smiling right at her. “I love your hair.”

“Thank you,” she replied bashfully, “but you’re the one who’s beautiful, your eyes are stunning!”

“Are you Elvis’ girlfriend?” another woman called out.

“Uh.” Chancy glanced at Lamar, who had his face turned away like a damned coward and then towards Elvis himself, who was signing a record sleeve further up the line.

“Don’t we all wish we were?” she replied to the crowd, who seemed to collectively groan and sigh in agreement. She couldn’t help laughing to herself as Lamar got her into the building without further incident.

“Good answer,” he remarked with a look that almost seemed impressed.

“I didn’t realise there would be a pop quiz!” she replied, following him into the dressing room.

“You gotta be prepared for anything.” Like he was telling her something she didn’t know.

“It’s different now,” she reflected. “Back when… When he was first starting out the fans could be kind of mean. They’d say some really hateful things to any girls that were around. They could be vicious.”

“Oh believe me, they can still be vicious,” Lamar intoned, rolling his eyes. “We’ve all got the scars to prove it.”

“Hmm,” Chancy answered, still marvelling on it.

Elvis and the rest of the guys burst into the room in a bubble of noise and activity. He made a beeline for the bottles of soda on the table and downed one in one go, letting out a huge burp afterwards.

“Greatest sex symbol of the twentieth century right there,” Lamar quipped.

“Like you can talk!” Sonny sneered, giving Lamar a warning look of caution behind Elvis’s back.

“Hey, it’s gotta come out, man!” Elvis shot back. “Better here than out there on stage in some little girl’s face. Although, I wonder how loud I could get it with a microphone with these kind of acoustics…” Chancy shook her head, marvelling at how little men actually grew up.

“Still wish you were his girlfriend?” Lamar joked to her, clearly missing Sonny’s warning.

Elvis’s eyes sharpened and his smirk dissolved as he looked at the two of them. Lamar, trying to repair the damage, explained what had happened outside with the fans and how Elvis would have been proud of her answer.

“How’s your junk, Lamar?” he said softly, stalking slowly towards the two of them. Chancy felt like an antelope that had wandered too far from the herd and had now spotted a lion moving through the tall grass. At least she wasn’t the one that seemed to be the prey; if she had been Lamar, she would have been thinking about how to run without being caught. “Notice you ain’t limping no more. Wanna keep it that way?”

“Run, boy,” one of the guys murmured in the background. Lamar heeded their words, stammering something about heading out to check everything was okay with the lights, side stepping Elvis in a wide arc. This left Chancy in his sights and she shuffled backwards as he advanced, finding herself with her back to the literal wall.

“Nowhere to run, baby,” he observed quietly. He rushed forward and grabbed her in a bear hug, spinning at the last minute so that he crashed back against the wall with her squashed to his chest. “Got you. You’re mine now.”

“Looks like,” she agreed nonchalantly, nodding even as her heart was ramming itself against her ribs.

“That make you happy?” he asked. The change in his voice from playful to serious had her glancing behind them, but none of the guys were looking their way and they were very good at seeming as though they were deep in conversation about something important. So very well trained.

“Does it make you happy?” she countered, with a playful quirk of her eyebrow.

“Nuh uh, I asked first.”

The way his voice turned whiney and babyish in her ear had her giggling like a child herself, the sound stuttering into a gasp as he released his arms only to encircle the front of her ribs with his hands, sliding his grip down over her stomach and onto her hips.

Inhaling deeply, she let her eyes flick upwards to stare into his and lifted herself onto her toes, almost on the points, so that she could touch the tip of her nose to his. Of course, this indirectly led to her sliding upwards in his hands, leaving them clutching the widest part of her hips and her ass.

“You always make me happy,” she murmured, their lips brushing as he smiled. She was touched to see his cheeks go pink too. He kissed her, she couldn’t get enough of his kisses, his hands openly cupping her ass and holding her against him.

“That’s good,” he whispered into her lips. “That’s real good.”

“Your turn now,” she reminded him.

At which point, the stage call came and Joe cleared his throat and passed on the message. Elvis let Chancy sink slowly back down from the tips of her toes and released her, giving her a helpless shrug.

“I gotta go,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. She played at being outraged, shaking her head and narrowing her eyes. “Baby, I can’t help it!” He backed out of the room, the guys seemingly dragging him away, and she kept up the façade until he was gone.

It felt as though the minute she could no longer see him, the oxygen swept back into the room. She inhaled desperately and her thoughts cleared, the questions and worries multiplying by the second.

“You okay?”

Chancy started, having missed the fact that Jerry had stayed behind.

“Sure.” She winced at how utterly unconvincing she was at lying even using just one word.

“We should probably head out. He’ll want you out there when the show starts.”

“Mmm hmm.” She followed him out of the dressing room and along the impersonal corridor towards the door to the auditorium.

“You distracted him,” he said over his shoulder. Chancy, who always anticipated criticism but especially now, looked up warily. “From his nerves, stage fright. It’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him leave to go onstage.”

“That a good thing?” she volleyed quietly.

She wasn’t quite sure about Jerry. Truth be told, at the moment she wasn’t quite sure about much. She was looking at everything through funhouse mirrors, distorted and disconcerting. Looking at him, she could see her own doubts reflected, the same mistrust.

“I guess we’ll find out,” he shrugged.

The opening theme had already started when they pushed through the doors into the main hall. For a moment, Chancy reeled, blind and deaf in the booming darkness and besieged by the flashing halos from the flashbulbs burnt into her retinas. This is what Elvis experienced every time he stepped out on the stage, she realised. Love and adulation as an violent attack.

At that moment, the spotlight on the stage found its focus and an inhuman roar rose up. Chancy was almost at the soundboard, Jerry’s hand steering her shoulder like she was a skittish horse, when she felt compelled to glance up and found Elvis was striding towards her at the front of the stage on his way to acknowledge his screaming admirers in that part of the auditorium.

Cradled in that light, cocooned in the velvety blackness that was crying his name, he had never looked more right, more at home, more perfect. In just a few seconds measured in the strobing lights of camera flashes, her thoughts finally slid together like a puzzle piece had been rotated to fit.

He needed someone to be at his side to finish the tour, to warm his bed and scratch their nails through his hair to help him sleep in the fuzzy, grey dawn. She could do that; who better than her? Hadn’t everyone been saying that she knew him well, knew his moods and his preferences, knew how sensitive and how fickle he was. Who better than her to play the part for now and step aside when he found Gail’s replacement, the next girl that he had been looking for all his life? No one else could endure that intensity and then step back and away from it unscathed. She already had once before.

Back at the microphone, Elvis’s voice blasted out over the screams, the devotion and the wordless need that besieged him. The band could barely keep up. Chancy saw a couple of the female backing singers flash each other a look of appreciation, acknowledging that they were going to have fun tonight. They weren’t wrong.

It was an hour and fifteen minutes of non-stop stimulation. At one point, Elvis decided he wanted to play the piano and Chancy could see the musicians all scrambling to figure out how they were going to accompany him on a song they had never even rehearsed before.

Then he was sliding onto his knees in front of a trio of hysterical girls who had evaded security, and their ecstatic cries flooded the microphone as he kissed them, smushing all three of their faces together between his hands like they were at some sort of bacchanalian orgy. 

“We’ll finish this later,” he murmured to them in the microphone, prompting one of the girls to almost leapfrog over the shoulder of the security guard who was gripping onto her for dear life, and the auditorium to erupt into laughter.

How he moved straight from this risqué comment into a gospel number with a straight face, Chancy had no idea. She watched the man, who ten minutes earlier had worn a bra thrown onto the stage as a pair of sunglasses, squeeze his eyes closed and propel his rich baritone towards heaven, beseeching it for answers. Chancy knew that both actions were true, both reflected who he was as a person, and one made the other that much more endearing.

Later, he collapsed onto the stage in an uncontrollable fit of laughter after he snatched up a pair of lurid pink panties (Honestly, half of the women in the first few rows must have been experiencing an uncomfortable draught by the end of the show.) and pinged them like a catapult in the direction of the backing singers where they caught JD the bass-singer in his perfectly coiffed grey hair.

It took Elvis a few minutes to calm down enough to continue, and then he just announced to the band that he was going to do the next song laying on the floor.

Yet, as the song started to build to the chorus, he somehow leapt up in a way that shouldn’t have been physically possible, still holding the notes. The audience started applauding and cheering before he finished the chorus, making him order the band to repeat it because he didn’t want anyone to miss anything. He seemed more than human and so exciting that no one could take their eyes off him, even the other people on stage. 

Chancy didn’t want to leave when Lamar reappeared and tapped her on the shoulder. It was unfair that she had to lose out on any part of it and she envied the audience that last few minutes as she traversed the cold, dark hallway that would take them to the limo at the stage door.

“That was one damn good show,” she said as they reached the car, listening to the bass of the song reverberating in the distance. There was a group of people clutching placards being corralled by a couple of police officers a few feet away.

“Yeah, it was,” Lamar nodded. “Make sure you let him know.”

“Please, Lamar, like I need advice from you on that front.” He tilted his head, giving her that one.

“It feel weird?” he asked suddenly, glancing back up towards the door as if Elvis would burst through at any moment. “I mean, after all this time, to just pick up where you left off?”

“That’s not-“ She wanted to laugh at the idea of them picking up their tragic teen romance unchanged after so many years, but she knew that when you spoke with his friends/employees, you had to imagine that Elvis was always there, watching and listening.

For all the insanity they had witnessed and experienced in their time with Elvis, loaded up with the money and means to indulge every impulse and fantasy, all of the men, Elvis included (and probably the most of all) had some weird notions about love and relationships that remained unsullied and revered. There was a strange contrast of romanticism and pragmatism surrounding them all. Sure, there were girls on the road that you screwed, but there were also wives or girlfriends- at the same time- that you loved, and that love was utterly unaffected by the other.

Chancy felt a kind of condescending affection for Lamar that she was obviously firmly ensconced in his head as the second kind of girl. It was pointless and self-defeating to try and convince him otherwise.

“It doesn’t feel weird,” she said instead. He mused over this, his brows knotted in thought.

“I guess,” he reflected, “it’s not like it ever really ended. Not really.”

Chancy gathered up the oxygen to address this, because it infuriated her the longer that she heard it echo in her head. The hardest decision that she ever had to make in her life hadn’t actually really happened? His marriage to a beautiful woman and their child hadn’t really happened? Chancy’s relationships, her achievements, her independence, again, hadn’t really happened? How dare he?!

The stage door flew open and a blur of people crashed through it. They had missed the end of the song as well as the ungodly bellowing that followed and were caught completely unaware. Chancy felt hands grab and bundle her into the car after Elvis and she barely had time to right herself before Joe was shoving in behind her and the doors were all banging shut one after the other.

Ricky, who was sitting in the bucket seat in front of them, handed Elvis a towel as soon as he had waved and smiled at his cadre of well-wishers out the window and he awkwardly wrapped it around his neck, struggling to catch his breath as the car shot out of the narrow alley and into the vast parking lot.

There were police officers on motorcyles ahead of them with their lights and sirens going to ensure that they got out of the parking lot before the gridlock of concertgoers started. 

“Great show, man,” Sonny was saying gently, repeating it until Elvis finally tuned into the present and nodded wearily in acknowledgement. Chancy looked at Ricky desperately trying to balance a cup of water until Elvis was ready for it and took pity on him. She leant forward and took it; from the consternation on his face at this change to routine, she wondered for a moment if he would fight her for it.

“Here, drink this, baby,” she murmured, holding it in front of Elvis until he finally lifted his head from where he had let it drop back against the back of the seat.

“Thank you, M- darlin’,” he murmured, catching himself, but his lips tilted into a faint, embarrassed smile anyway. He twisted in the seat, she caught the small, exhausted groan he made as he moved, and then he was leaning against her, his head resting on top of hers.

“What did you think of the show?” he asked quietly. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t even turn her face with the end of the towel that was around his neck tucked between her shoulder and jaw. So, she had to make do with staring at the taillights flashing in the distance through the windscreen.

“You were utterly spellbinding,” she said in the same soft, intimate tone. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“I know, I could feel ‘em,” he replied, sliding his fingers between hers and clasping her hand.

Chancy’s back began to ache from the strain of holding them both up, but she bit her tongue. She could feel Elvis’s pulse beginning to slow towards something more normal, more human, and his breathing was finally evening out. His suit was completely soaked, they would both need to change when they got back to the hotel.

“The sound was better,” Elvis remarked suddenly in his normal voice, breaking the unnatural silence of the car. Immediately, the guys leapt upon it, agreeing emphatically.

“It sounded good, sounded really good. I guess Bruce figured it out,” Joe replied. “I’ll let him know to keep it that way.”

“The sound was fantastic. When those three little girls started squealing I think they heard it all the way in the parking lot,” Sonny said. “They should think about a career in the opera.”

“Forget the damn opera,” Red cut in. “The way they dodged and leapt over the cops, they should try out for wide receiver!”

Elvis didn’t respond, at least not verbally so that Chancy was aware, but he gave her hand a little squeeze and continued to sip at his water as they drew closer to the hotel.

It was relief to get out of the limo back at the hotel. There were only a few diehard fans still lingering around the service entrance and they got through the kitchens and into the elevator without incident.

On their floor, the crew began to peel away. Joe went to call the Colonel and check on arrangements for the show the following night. Red said that he wanted to call home and catch his kids before they went to bed. When they got to the door of the hotel room, Chancy wondered whether she was supposed to go back to Jerry’s room, but Elvis’s grip on her hand was unquestionable.

The room was still lit up the way they had left it earlier in the evening. Chancy went to get a drink from the mini bar fridge, but Ricky was already there, obviously harbouring resentment about the water in the car. He opened the water bottle and put it on the nightstand as Elvis wearily sank down on the side of the bed with a sigh.

There was a routine, as there was for everything, and Chancy didn’t know her role within it, if there even was one. As she was considering this, Jerry walked into the room without announcing himself and asked what Elvis would like for dinner.   

“Honey, why don’t you get comfortable on the couch,” Elvis said wearily, catching sight of her standing awkwardly by the door. “I’ll be with you as soon as we wrestle this damn suit off.”

Glad to be given an instruction, something- anything- to do, she stepped hastily across to the living area and perched on the couch. This felt just as uncomfortable as standing to attention by the door, so she went over and started to flick through the channels.

Behind her, she could hear Ricky and Elvis talking in low voices. Her chest clenched when she heard Elvis grunt as if pained and she had to hold herself steady to stop herself from turning to check on him, to help. He was trusting her enough to be there, to witness his vulnerability, she didn’t want to betray that. 

Searching the channels, her eyes lit up at a familiar face. It was one of Elvis’s movies from the mid sixties, all Technicolor and gorgeous locations. The sound was down low enough that she couldn’t hear what anyone was saying, but it still amused her that there were people all over the state watching this and she had the real article right in the same room.

Chancy glanced up as Ricky walked past her on the left, heading for the door with the suit hanging over his arm. She flashed him her brightest smile, trying to make up for upsetting him earlier in the evening. She found it quite adorable that he obviously took his job and his duties so seriously. She must have been forgiven because he beamed back and promptly walked into the closed door.

“Oh my goodness, Ricky, are you okay?” She jumped up from the sofa, but he scrambled at the handle and was gone before she could reach him.                        

“Leave the poor kid alone!” Elvis ordered, his voice full of sympathy for Ricky. Chancy looked over to where he was standing by the doorway to the bathroom, wrapped up in a dark blue silk robe. “Man, he ain’t gonna hear the end of that for weeks!”

“But how will anyone else know-” Her frown cleared as Elvis grinned mischievously. “Oh, poor Ricky. You shouldn’t tease him, he really looks up to you.”

“It’s the way of the world, honey, gotta make a man of him. Besides, don’t want him getting too comfortable mooning over my woman.”

Before her revelation at the concert, being called his woman would have undone her and got her bones rattling and her brain whirring. Now she understood her role, she could accept that a lot of women were Elvis’s ‘woman’, it was a section of society rather than an obligation.

“I’m gonna take a shower, honey. Why don’t you get ready for bed before Jerry shows up with dinner?”

Again, she nodded and took on the task. She wasn’t being ordered around, she wasn’t ignoring her own agency to please someone else, she was performing a responsibility, a duty. It was a little like being an actress with a role. This wasn’t her.

Chancy had changed into her nightgown and robe and was smiling as she listened to Elvis singing in the shower- some goofy jingle from a tv ad- when there was a knock on the door. She waited for the person to enter, but the door stayed closed for once. Unsure of what she was supposed to do in this situation, but figuring that Elvis’s world couldn’t be that far removed from reality, she went to answer it.

“Oh, Jerry!” He was standing in the corridor with the food trolley like he worked for the hotel. “I thought you guys just came straight on in?”

“I didn’t want to intrude. I figured you might want a little more privacy.”

“Well, thank you, that’s really thoughtful.”

“Turns out it was a good thing,” he said. She frowned, not following. “The distraction. That was the best show I’ve seen in a couple of years.”

Chancy glanced towards the bathroom and then pulled the door into her hip.

“Wasn’t he amazing? I swear that every time I think I understand how talented that man is, he goes and blows my expectations out of the water.”

“I think that was kind of the point,” Jerry remarked wryly. “You are not going to be impressed just seeing him on stage, are you.”

“No, I still pretty much am,” she admitted, ignoring the implication that she had anything to do with the night’s performance.

“Well, maybe don’t tell him that.” They laughed conspiratorially.

“What are y’all whispering about?”

Chancy lurched as the door was pulled out of her hand and away from where her hip was resting on it. Elvis gave Jerry a cool stare as he rubbed his hair with a towel.

“Uh, dinner, Boss,” Jerry stammered, moving the trolley in front of himself like a barricade.

“That need a whole conversation?” Elvis snapped.

Chastened, Jerry wheeled the trolley into the room and murmured a hurried good night before closing the door behind him.

“We were talking about you,” Chancy admitted. “Gushing like a couple of lovesick fans about how amazing you were tonight.” Her face dropped as she registered his face.

“And you just had to answer the door dressed like that,” he muttered, nodding at her pale peach satin nightgown and robe. She followed his look, seeing only that she was more covered than she had been wearing her dress to the show.

“You told me to get ready for bed,” she returned, trying to keep her voice even.

“I also tell you to hang on the door whispering and giggling with another man in the hallway while my goddamn back was turned?”

“We were talking about you,” she repeated, gritting her teeth.

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he muttered. He threw the towel he had been using for his hair towards the armchair, but it missed and landed on the floor. Chancy could feel all the warmth and giddiness she had been swimming in since the show draining as quickly as if someone had pulled the plug. Swallowing, she reached down to pick up the towel and return it to the bathroom.

“Wait.” He grabbed her shoulders, his long fingers pressing into her shoulder blades as his thumbs rested into the dips above her collar bones. 

“Wait, really?” she asked wearily. “You’re stealing my lines now?”

The snort of laughter this provoked was all the sweeter since it was clearly a surprise even to him considering the mood he had gotten himself into.

“Lord, did I ever get sick of waitin’!” he intoned, sounding like a preacher starting to warm up the congregation.

Chancy tried to capitalise on this favourable mood swing by drawing in towards him, but his arms remained firm holding her shoulders.

“So, tell me,” he said in a low voice. “What were you two saying about me?”

“Well, you know Jerry, he was obviously going ga-ga over how sexy you were, but me being a distinguished music critic of good standing…”

Chancy glanced up at him slyly and was struck by his warm and amused expression; the way his heavy-lidded eyes were fixed on her, lips tilted up so minutely and mouth open, utterly unself-conscious. It was a powerful feeling being the focus of his undivided attention and it chimed in her, finding an echo in so many memories that she kept close and did not examine too often because of the dissonance she usually felt between the sweet, intense boy she had once unravelled her unprepared heart for and the showman he was now, always giving a performance no matter the size of the audience. She could see him clearly now, her first love, and the unexpected recognition hit her like a blow, knocking the air from her chest.

“You okay?” he asked, frowning slightly. “Honey, why’d you stop?”

“Uh sorry, I just… had the strangest feeling...” His hands slid over her shoulders and down to her wrists, his fingers encircling them loosely like heavy bangles. “You know, I was so mad when Lamar came to take me to the car at the end of the show because I wanted to stay and gaze at you some more, I didn’t want to miss anything. You’d think after all the times I’ve seen you on stage that I’d stop being so overwhelmed by your gifts, but somehow you just get better and better in ways I can’t predict or understand.”

“You practised that beforehand,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “No way that came off the cuff.”

“Like with cue cards?” she asked, giggling. “I am nowhere near talented enough to predict anything you might do or say to me, let alone think about how I’d respond!”

“You’re so damn good with words,” he commented, shaking his head. “Thank you, darlin’, that was beautiful and real sweet.”

Chancy thought that she had managed it, changed the course of the evening and steered them away from stormy weather. She thought it, but found out when she tried to take a step in towards him and his grip tightened on her wrists. She accepted that he was not going to let her ‘get away with it’ and decided to give in sooner rather than later.

“Honey, I’m sorry,” she found herself saying and hated herself. “I wasn’t thinking, I was just excited to talk about the show with someone.” She felt his fingers graze the side of her palms as he finally released her, but there was no other response. She took a contrite step forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, nuzzling into his side. “Let’s have dinner, huh, baby, before it gets cold?” He made no move to return her affection or even move until she released him, then he trailed her to the couch.

“What the fuck is this?!”

Chancy glanced up from the trolley she had been unloading and followed his disgusted gaze to the television, where the other him was currently singing a love song to a beautiful bikini clad woman. Chancy snorted, biting on her lip as his eyes flicked to her.

“Oh I, uh, missed you while you were taking a shower?” she offered in answer to the question in his raised eyebrow.

“You are really pushing me, woman,” he said in a soft voice, gritting his teeth. He changed the channel, muttering, “Get lost, fool.”

“Now I’ll never know how it ends,” she sighed, passing him his plate.

“It ends the same way they all ended, darlin’, a big shoot-out and every motherfucker dies ‘cept the dog.”

“Hmm, I don’t think that was in the theatrical release. Hate to tell you but they might have cut that scene.” 

“Aw shit, that was the best part.”

Chancy asked if he wanted her to cut up his steak and he passed over his plate wordlessly. While he waited, he poured her iced tea and reached over to scoop the onions from her steak onto his plate. If only everything was easy as eating, she reflected with a wry smile.

“You spoken to your sister?” he asked once they had started to dig in. Chancy glanced back from the television where a reporter was broadcasting from what looked like some kind of county fair.               

“Um, not for a couple of days, I think. It’s really hard to keep track of the days, isn’t it.”

“There are days?” he replied sardonically. She half-smiled and went back to stirring the food on her plate. Her stomach was not fooled by her thinking of the meal as dinner. It knew that it was past midnight and it was firmly informing her that it was now off the clock and not prepared to receive anything until morning.

“So, she don’t know about-?“ He wiggled his index finger between the two of them. “You ain’t told her?” If her appetite had been miniscule before, it evaporated then. She reached for her iced tea to wet her suddenly cotton-dry mouth and studiously avoided looking at him.

“Um, it’s like you said before, I don’t even know what this is myself. I wouldn’t know what to say.” He finished his mouthful and put his empty plate to one side before turning towards her. She gripped her own like it was a shield and her whipped potato an army ready to defend her.

“You done?” She reluctantly nodded and he took her shield away.

When he turned to her again, she could see the same anxiety she was feeling reflected in him. His jaw was clenched, the muscle flickering, nostrils flaring and his eyes gazing just off her left knee. In a way, that made her feel more at ease because she didn’t feel like she was the only one being towed into the unknown by a strong current.

“It’s okay,” she said, finally gripping her nerve. “You don’t have to try and explain it.” His eyes focussed on her. “I know you can’t just go out and meet someone like a regular person, especially not on tour. It doesn’t have to be… You don’t have to pretend with me that it’s any more than it is, you don’t have to waste time acclimatising me to this whole situation. We can spend time together without it being a big production. I don’t have any expectations and I won’t make any demands of you-“

“Darlin’, I’m gonna stop you there,” he said abruptly, talking faster than normal. “First of all, it is beyond easy for me to get a chick anywhere. I could go downstairs and turn around and come straight back up here with a girl, don’t you worry about that.”

Chancy chewed on her lips to stop herself from smirking. It was so like Elvis to listen to her awkward, heartfelt speech and hear only a need to defend his sex appeal.

“Second of all, woman, how can you spend so much time thinking and watching a-a-and still end up so damn wrong?!” Her smirk dissolved into bemusement. “You think I want you with me because it’s easier?! Cha-Cha, this whole thing has me scared to fucking death.”

His voice cracked and it felt as though someone cold-cocked her in the diaphragm. She opened her mouth to ask why it was happening then, but he shook his head and put his fingertips over her lips.

“Let me talk, goddamn it!”

So, she waited, but he didn’t continue, just stared in frustration at the hand he had pressed to her mouth.

“I ain’t much for thinking when it comes to what I want,” he blurted finally, when she had been about to pull his hand away. “I- I know I get led by my… feelings. Mama’d always scold me for it and I never learned my lesson but with you. Lord, the number of times I’ve wanted to kiss you and stopped myself because I knew how badly it could upset everything.” She asked a question that was entirely muffled by the hand over her lips. He reluctantly dropped it.

“What changed?” she said again.

“I don’t know,” he returned edgily. “I guess this time I felt that you would kiss me back, but, shit, it was touch and go for a second there, weren’t it?” She laughed and covered her face, feeling her cheeks scalding her palms. “Hey, I’m the one pouring his heart out here, ain’t no reason for you to be embarrassed!”

Chancy let her hands drop.

“You’re kinda good with words too, you know,” she observed.

“Would’ve probably been more romantic without all the cussing though, huh,” he observed with his small, natural smile.

“Nope, I wouldn’t have believed it came from you,” she replied, dipping her head, embarrassed by how much her cheeks seemed to be throbbing neon.

In response, he leant forward and cradled her jaw in his hands, enveloping her in a kiss that seemed to keep deepening until he was stealing the breath from her. Her hands couldn’t settle on what to touch, gripping his shoulders, encircling his neck, rubbing down his biceps. So much territory for her to rediscover that it was a little overwhelming.

As for what he had said, she refused to delve into that, because she knew that he was good at telling people what he thought they wanted to hear. That was the source of his infamous ‘where have you been, I’ve been searching for you all my life’ come-on that he had apparently refined and reused throughout the years.

It was the secret of his popularity, both in terms of his career and with the people around him. He figured you out and then he offered you some of what you needed, just enough to keep you hanging around for more.

Of course, Chancy’s traitorous brain was questioning why, if it was all a strategy, he had fed her the line about wanting her over the years when he had admitted in the same breath that he knew she had not wanted the same. She could not answer that, but then Elvis had mastered people the way that some people master chess. It was possible that he was just several moves ahead of her.

Almost as if he could hear her thoughts, he pulled back from where his lips were tickling and nuzzling her neck and his eyes narrowed. She panicked momentarily that she had spoken them out loud.

“I swear that I’m gonna figure out how to switch that brain of yours off, honey, or turn down the volume at least. I can hear the goddamn buzzing going on in there.”

“Hey, I was just thinking that this would be even better on the bed,” she replied. So, they decided to get ready for bed and she cleaned up after their meal while he used the bathroom.

Opening the door, she wheeled the trolley out into the hallway. Forgetting where she was, she almost screamed when she found Red sitting outside her room cleaning one of his guns. She pulled her robe tighter around herself and gave him a taut smile, not wanting a repeat of the situation with Jerry. Red noted the lack of conversation with a frown; she was not exactly known to be the shy, retiring type after all.

“Hey, kid, you al-“

Chancy closed the door quickly and threw herself at the bed as the bathroom door opened. She hurried round Elvis as he came out because she knew his eyes saw everything and she was too tired to explain why she was looking guilty for taking out the dinner trolley.

By the time she had brushed her teeth and hair, washed her face, and silently screamed at her reflection for a couple of minutes, Elvis had turned out most of the lights in the room apart from a desk lamp on the far side. The TV was off, but the radio was playing ‘Cry to Me’ by Solomon Burke.

As she padded across the room to the bed, she was hit by a memory of dancing to the song in a bar. The recollection was so strong it passed through her like a wave, making her falter as she climbed onto the bed.

Elvis was lying in bed with one hand behind his head. He smiled at her as she primly folded back the blankets to climb in next to him and outright laughed when she settled herself down about two feet away from him with her arms very demurely tucked into her sides on the outside of the blankets. 

“Were you always this weird?” he asked, reaching under the covers, grabbing one of her arms and legs and dragging her sharply across to him.

“Says the guy throwing me around like a caveman,” she retorted, glad that the low lighting was hiding her blushes.

“How long were you freaking out in there before you got up the courage to come on out?” he asked with irritating insight.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, clambering onto her hands and knees, and laying her palms on either side of his face. It was very difficult to kiss someone when they were laughing at you, as Chancy soon discovered.

“Stop it!” she whined. “Right, that’s it!” She feigned climbing back out of the bed and he reached up and grabbed her by the waist, yanking her back down and rolling on top of her.

“You ain’t going anywhere,” he informed her, all humour gone from his face. Although he was supporting himself with his hands, his remaining weight pinned her to the bed and she had a very real sense of being trapped. She stared at him above her, his face wreathed in shadow and his dark hair hanging down, and shuddered as her nerves all started firing at once.

As he brought his head down so that he could brush his pillowy lips against hers, she could feel his arms beginning to tremble. So, she reached up and hooked her arms up behind his, her hands settling on his shoulders, and pulled him in.

“Baby, I don’t wanna hurt you,” he mumbled into her mouth.

In answer, she tugged again and then pushed up against his lips, whispering his name along with a desperate sounding ‘please’.

“Oh God,” he groaned, lowering himself onto her at the same time as his groin ground against her. “Honey, you’re gonna be the death of us both.” She smiled as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, breathing heavy through his nose at being pressed so tightly against her.

As the minutes passed, Chancy’s thoughts and awareness shrank until they encompassed only the bed and the bodies upon it. Her skin was burning, covered not only by Elvis’s weighty and fiercely hot frame, but also the blankets over him. She dragged her lower lip along his jaw and pressed her mouth into the crook of his neck, licking at the salt collecting there. This earnt her another roll of his hips and sharp hiss through his teeth. The lapping turned into sucking and tentatively she closed her teeth against his skin. He grunted as he pulled back, pushing himself up on one elbow, which had the effect of nudging the firm bulge of him into the crease of her inner thigh. She wanted to squirm to position him more favourably, but he took hold of her chin.

“No biting,” he growled in a low voice. “I ain’t getting up in front of fifteen thousand people with hickeys like I’m nineteen!”

“No biting where anyone else can see,” she gasped. “Got you.”

In response, he smothered her with a breathy, hot kiss, his tongue ploughing into her mouth, choking off her moan. He had finally positioned his hips exactly where she needed them and she thrusted against him, wrapping her leg over his hip when he pulled back.

“Goddamn, you’re feisty!” he panted, running his hand from her foot, the heel of which was nudging into his ass, and all the way along to her hip, managing to get hold of it despite all her wriggling. She whined as he pinned her down, forcefully putting a stop to her rutting against him.

“I think we’re a little unclear on who’s in charge here,” he said hoarsely, shoving himself back onto his knees. “Jesus, it’s like being in a damn oven.”

He threw the blankets to one side and the cool air came surging in, sweeping across Chancy’s skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. She looked down, baffled at how they were both still fully clothed in their nightwear when she had been edging temptingly close to pleasure. She shivered as the sweat on her skin began to cool and sat up, reaching for him and his warmth. 

“Now, see, this is what I’m talking about,” he muttered, sounding irritated. “You got too accustomed to being in charge, honey. You forgot who the boss is around here.” She shivered again, and this time it had nothing to do with the cold.

“You don’t want me to want you?” she asked in a half whisper.

“Baby, of course I do. I- I- It’s just… Good little girls let their man set the pace. They’re not so damn pushy.” He might as well have poured a glass of cold water over her. She drew her knees into her chest and folded her arms around her legs.

“Well, maybe the problem is that I grew out of being a good little girl a long time ago,” she returned hotly. She could feel her eyes stinging with tears that she angrily blinked away. It had been a long day, she was exhausted, and if she had to hear about one more thing that she had done wrong…

There was a long, uncomfortable pause and she considered that it had all begun and ended in a matter of days because she dared to be enthusiastic about reaching second base with a man who had slept with hundreds, if not thousands, of women. 

“No, you’ll always be my good lil girl,” he cooed softly, shuffling closer so that he could pull her tightly contorted body in between his legs. She resisted the pressure of his hands to shift her back against him, and locked her grip around her knees by clamping onto her forearms. “When you’re not being a stubborn lil brat, that is.”

“I’m not either of those things,” she insisted in a low voice into her kneecap where she was pressing her mouth.

“Sure you’re not,” he murmured, not even trying to hide his amusement. He gave up trying to draw her into him and instead moved round so that he was facing her. His hands were deliciously warm as they rubbed up and down her chilled arms and when he added his hot breath as he kissed each of her knuckles, she couldn’t help but release her grip.

Like he was positioning a doll, he lifted her arms, one at a time, and placed them at her sides. Then, he turned his attention to her legs, opening them and setting one of her feet on either side of his thighs. Holding her breath, she did nothing to adjust the hem of her nightdress, and his gaze sank down to the shadows at the apex of her legs. The room was so still, with even the radio seemingly broadcasting dead air, that she could hear his soft, shallow pants as he beheld her. 

“You gonna be a good little girl for me, baby?”

Deep in the rational part of her mind, she still railed at that description. It felt wrong, whether because she felt he was sticking her on the shelf with all his young and desperate to please girlfriends, one amongst many, or because it felt like he wasn’t seeing her, not all of her, the way she was now.

“I am good,” she managed finally. After a pause, adding, “Boss.” 

“So fuckin’ stubborn,” he muttered, as he leant down and manoeuvred himself backwards off the bed. She shrieked when he grabbed her ankles and yanked her to him.

“You know, you could just ask me to move instead of throwing me around like a rag doll,” she snapped, nevertheless rubbing the top of her foot up and down the back of his thigh as he stood at the side of the bed.

“Could,” he agreed. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“You just want everyone to hear me screaming.”

She caught the smirk that passed over his face as he considered this and only had a second to regret putting the idea into his head before he dipped forward and his hot mouth clamped onto her erect nipple right through the satin material. She gasped and writhed as she felt teeth and her hands flew to his hair, though she had no idea whether she wanted to pull him away or hold him there.

“We ain’t going all the way tonight, baby,” he told her, tugging down the top of her nightie and pressing a wet kiss against her areola, flicking the nipple with his tongue. “Don’t have the time to do it the way I want to.”

Chancy heard the unspoken ‘or the energy’ and felt a twinge of guilt. She had seen his exhaustion up close after the show, and her stomach had clenched with each suppressed groan and grimace he had tried to hide from her since then. 

“We don’t-” she began, only for him to talk over her.

“But I’m gonna take care of this ornery streak so I can have my sweet baby back again.” He snorted. “Ornery, almost right.”

“I’m not hor-” She cut off as his mouth closed on her breast again and it became a vacuum as he sucked and swirled his tongue to deadly effect. “Ohhhhh. My God.” Her fingers flexed and she absently petted his hair, even getting off on the tickle of the fine strands against her palm. It threw him off as he smothered a laugh at being stroked like a cat.

Recovering, he turned his attention to her other breast and gave it the same treatment, his hands cradling and palming the weight of them.

With a flash of anxiety, she wondered if he was making comparisons, noting the changes since he had last seen her without clothes on. She was fairly satisfied with her body, as much as any person could be, but she knew that she no longer looked like a teenager.

Even if she had wanted to hold onto them, these fears scattered as his hands slid down her sides and fumbled with the bottom of her nightgown where it bunched at the tops of her thighs. He tugged it upwards and she lifted her hips to help, earning herself a sweet peck on her bended knee. He left the bottom of the dress tickling her ribs as he stood at the side of the bed, framed in her eyes by the v of her open, bent legs.

There was a long pause as she watched the path of his eyes from the core of her, up over her hips and ribs, her back arching as if being drawn back to his warmth, her exposed breasts still glistening from his mouth, and up to her flushed face, where her hands had slid up to her own hair, needing desperately to cling to something. She tried to categorise his expression as she watched him suck his bottom lip in between his teeth and let his gaze slip all the way back down again.

Elvis took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, tugging up the legs of his pyjama bottoms at his thighs. Before she understood what was happening, he slowly and, she thought with alarm, somewhat tentatively, sank to his knees.

“Oh honey, you don’t need-”

“Aw hush!” he snapped, his fingers wrapping around the tops of her thighs. She tensed as she felt the first breath of warm air on her sensitive skin, not at all comfortable with being spread out before him with no way of knowing what to expect. This had definitely not been part of his repertoire before and the men that she had been with since either demurred or, quite frankly, floundered when it came to oral.

Chancy bucked in surprise when she felt the flat of his tongue slide confidently up through her folds and over her clitoris, and she cringed at the squeak that she emitted.

“Watch it with them crazy legs,” he mumbled, pressing down on the inside of her knees to stop her from jack-knifing them into his head. She went to apologise, but he got straight back to work with his tongue and a series of sounds came out of her mouth instead.

Elvis didn’t let her get comfortable as he explored her, testing her response to each tactic he employed. He altered the pressure, the speed and the direction his tongue and lips took as they devoured her. It was as if he was cataloguing the sounds and twitches she made, returning to moves that got the biggest reaction just like he did on stage. Her blood felt like ice, her body tensing and tingling entirely out of her control. She tried gripping hold of the sheets, but the silk just slipped through her fingers. She tangled them in her hair, but she was scared that she was going to start pulling it out as she became more undone, more frantic. When he slid his fingers deep into her warmth, she threw back her head and cried out his name, her muscles squeezing onto him, finally having something to hold onto.

Chancy felt caught in an ever-intensifying loop, the pressure and crackles of electricity cascading up from the arches of her feet, through the inside of her legs, and forever building in the centre of her.

With each moan and plea she heard coming from her own mouth and her almost pained panting, it turned up the dial and took her further and further towards mindlessness, just as Elvis was lapping at the centre of her. The sloppy sound of his fingers plunging in and out of her combined with his unexpectedly boyish moans and mumbling finally lifted her over the edge. She squeezed her eyes closed as fluorescent fireworks exploded on the inside of her eyelids. Her entire body was wracked with muscle contractions as if she was being electrocuted by pleasure. She had no idea what she was saying, but she could hear her voice crying out as if from far away.

It took a moment for her to return to herself, to feel the cold air, to notice the tears sliding from the corner of her eyes into the shell of her ears, and hear her breath as it shuddered out from her chest.

Elvis grunted as he rose from his knees, using the mattress to drag himself up. She watched him wipe his face with the back of his hand and sneer a self-satisfied grin as he stared down at her. Then he clumsily climbed back onto the bed and dropped beside her with a sharp exhale.

“Feeling more like my good lil baby now?” he asked, sounding younger than he had in years, and so, so familiar and missed.

Still incapable of words, she rolled towards him and buried her face into his neck, pressing the length of her trembling body against him.

“Yeah, there she is,” he murmured to himself, wrapping his arms around her. She sniffled, taking gulping breaths of his scent to anchor herself, even as aftershocks made her thighs quiver. “Talk to me, baby, let me know you’re okay.”

Elvis nudged her with his shoulder, pushing her back from the warmth and safety of the crook of his neck, so she pulled back and nodded as she clenched her jaw, trying not to let her bottom lip tremble.

“Did you like that?” he prompted, suddenly the insecure boy and not the brash, confident man he tried very hard to pretend he was. She nodded again, which seemed to displease him, so she kissed him instead, nudging and leaning as hard as she could until he finally surrendered and relaxed onto his back, letting her drape herself over him.

“That was incredible,” she whispered, stroking his cheek and nibbling at his plump bottom lip until he relaxed into a smile again, this one small and intimate. “You are incredible. I hope you’re not wanting more than that because incredible is the only word in my mind right now.”

“So, that’s where the button to turn off your brain is!” he exclaimed with faux wonder, a hand slipping down to cup her mound.

Even the feint of a touch had her overstimulated body flinching away from him and he laughed into her ear as she writhed. Her hand missed grabbing his, but slid against his hip, where she felt the firm length of him lifting the silk of his pyjama pants. She kneaded her palm along the shaft, making him groan softly, but this time it was his hand that caught hers.

“Not tonight,” he murmured, pressing his lips against her forehead. “Let’s go to bed, darlin’.” She nodded, pleased that he would be getting the rest he so obviously needed even if she didn’t get the opportunity to shower him with the affection and attention that he had shown her.

As he crawled back up to the pillows, he asked her if she would get him some water, cheekily wondering aloud why his mouth was so dry. She laughed, though her cheeks were burning.

She had to put out her hands to catch herself against the wall when her knees failed to lock as she stepped out of bed, her legs rubbery and weak. She heard a faint snort and turned back, wincing, as of course he had seen her walking like Bambi.

“You okay there, baby?”

“Lookin’ so proud of yourself,” she muttered. It took her a minute to get to the mini fridge and a lot of concentration to pour the water into a glass and then make it back to the bed without spilling it. Her body didn’t seem to be fully under her control anymore.

By this time, Elvis was rifling through orange pill bottles on the nightstand. Chancy could make out at least five different containers.

“Just give it to me straight, is what you have very contagious?” she asked, perching next to him.

“They’re just to help me sleep,” he replied, shooting her a half smile.

“Do you really need all of them, even tonight?”

“Well, see, they all do something different,” he answered, warming to the topic. “These get me to actually fall asleep, which can be tough after a show, you know. And then there’s the red ones that knock me out for a few hours. The white ones take longer to work- s’why I need the others- but they can keep me down for a whole twelve hours sometimes. These ones here help with the sleepwalking… They’re all prescribed by a doctor, honey, and they’re completely safe.”

He certainly seemed familiar with them, nudging pills from the various bottles into his hand with a practised ease. She handed him the water when he reached for it and watched anxiously as he swallowed the medication. He shot her sideways look, a smile faint on his lips.

“Bedtime,” he murmured, squeezing her cheeks between his fingers to make her pout. He positioned himself in the centre of the bed and held out his arms for her like she was a custom-made teddy bear. She shook her head slightly to erase the acidic tone of her thoughts.

Elvis tucked her into his side, her head resting on his chest and his arm cradling her like they were made to fit together. She rested her free hand on his soft stomach, fiddling with the button on his pyjama jacket, but he promptly snatched up her fingers and lifted them to his lips before placing them on his chest. It was a brief glimpse of insecurity and she ached to say something to reassure him, but knew that anything she said would only make him defensive.

“We should call Alicia and tell her about us,” he said abruptly. She frowned, glad that her face was turned away.

“You mean together?”

“Uh huh, she should hear it from both of us. I think she’ll be happy, don’t you?”

“Sure,” she whispered, sliding her fingers into the unbuttoned opening of his pyjama jacket and rubbing circles through the hair on his chest. “Just feels a little like we’re ganging up on her. She’s gonna be surprised.”

“Not that surprised, honey, she knows how we feel about each other. She’s always said that we’d get back together one day.”

This was news to Chancy because her sister never said such things to her. Maybe early on, when everything had been raw and uncomfortable, Alicia had struggled with their breakup. She had been just seven years old when Elvis had come into her life as Chancy’s sweet, charming boyfriend and eleven when everything had imploded so horribly. It had felt like the end of everything for all of them, Chancy most of all. She had not just lost Elvis, but a whole family.

Gradually, though, they had all learnt that the bonds of family could withstand more than they thought. Now, she suspected that Alicia might focus more on the pain another break-up would cause since she no longer needed Chancy to be with Elvis to have him as her ‘big brother’.

“Mama used to say it too,” he murmured, yawning. “She’d be so happy about this, wouldn’t she?”

Now, Chancy thought this was more likely. She also knew that Elvis carried a lot of guilt for what he saw as letting down his mother by not granting her dearest wish to see him married and settled with her grandchildren running around while she was alive.

“She was always happy just as long as you were, darlin’.”

“I am,” he nodded- she felt the movement behind her head. “I am now.”

Chancy’s chest tightened at his words and the seemingly breathless sincerity with which he said them.

Gradually, Elvis’s breathing deepened and slowed and Chancy felt her own eyelids grow heavier. She could not imagine feeling more relaxed than cocooned in his arms, warm and protected. Thank you @thatbanditqueen and @be-my-ally for the cheerleading. I think this means you both owe me a new chapter of yours now. I'm going to be calling in that IOU.

[noneun]

Cristina Torre Cáceres

Si mañana no te contesto las llamadas, mamá.

Si no te digo que voy a cenar. Si mañana, mami, no aparece el taxi.

Tal vez estoy envuelta en las sábanas de un hotel, en una carretera o una bolsa negra. (Mara, Micaela, Majo, Mariana). Tal vez estoy en una maleta o me perdí en la playa (Emily, Shirley).

No te asustes, mamá, si ves que me apuñalaron (Luz Marina). No grites cuando veas que me arrastraron (Arlette). Mamita, no llores si te enteras que me empalaron (Lucía).

Te dirán que fui yo, que no grité, que fue mi ropa, el alcohol en mi sangre.

Te dirán que fue la hora, que estaba sola. Que mi ex el psicópata tenía motivos, que yo fui infiel, que fui puta.

Te dirán que viví, mamá, que me atreví a volar muy alto en un mundo sin aire.

Te juro, mami, que morí peleando. Te juro, viejita, que grité tan alto como volé.

Se va a acordar de mí, ma. Sabrá que fui yo quien lo jodió cuando me vea en el rostro de todas las que le van a gritar mi nombre. Porque sé, mamá, que no vas a parar.

Pero por lo que más quieras, no ates a mi hermana. No encierres a mis primas, no prives a tus sobrinas. No es su culpa, mamá; tampoco fue mía. Son ellos, siempre serán ellos.

Lucha por sus alas, por las que me cortaron. Lucha para que sean libres y vuelen más alto que yo. Pelea para que griten más fuerte que yo. Que vivan sin miedo, mamá, tal como viví yo.

Mamita, no llores mis cenizas.

Si mañana soy yo, mamá, si mañana no vuelvo, destrúyelo todo.

Si mañana me toca, quiero ser la última.

Di seguito, la traduzione italiana della poesia:

Se domani non rispondo alle tue chiamate, mamma.

Se non ti dico che non torno a cena. Se domani, il taxi non appare.

Forse sono avvolta nelle lenzuola di un hotel, su una strada o in un sacco nero (Mara, Micaela, Majo, Mariana).

Forse sono in una valigia o mi sono persa sulla spiaggia (Emily, Shirley).

Non aver paura, mamma, se vedi che sono stata pugnalata (Luz Marina).

Non gridare quando vedi che mi hanno trascinata per i capelli (Arlette).

Cara mamma, non piangere se scopri che mi hanno impalata (Lucia).

Ti diranno che sono stata io, che non ho urlato abbastanza, che era il modo in cui ero vestita, l’alcool nel sangue.

Ti diranno che era giusto, che ero da sola.

Che il mio ex psicopatico aveva delle ragioni, che ero infedele, che ero una puttana.

Ti diranno che ho vissuto, mamma, che ho osato volare molto in alto in un mondo senza aria.

Te lo giuro, mamma, sono morta combattendo.

Te lo giuro, mia cara mamma, ho urlato tanto forte quanto ho volato in alto.

Ti ricorderai di me, mamma, saprai che sono stata io a rovinarlo quando avrai di fronte tutte le donne che urleranno il mio nome.

Perché lo so, mamma, tu non ti fermerai.

Ma, per carità, non legare mia sorella.

Non rinchiudere le mie cugine, non limitare le tue nipoti.

Non è colpa tua, mamma, non è stata nemmeno mia.

Sono loro, saranno sempre loro.

Lotta per le vostre ali, quelle ali che mi hanno tagliato.

Lotta per loro, perché possano essere libere di volare più in alto di me.

Combatti perché possano urlare più forte di me.

Perché possano vivere senza paura, mamma, proprio come ho vissuto io.

Mamma, non piangere le mie ceneri.

Se domani sono io, se domani non torno, mamma, distruggi tutto.

Se domani tocca a me, voglio essere l’ultima.

(fonte)

[darkfictionjude]

Happy Halloween!

(For those who celebrate!)

I have nothing special written for this occasion but let me tell you what the Crown + ROs + the siblings have dressed up as in the years before.

MC: very uninspired — a ghost. Literally a white sheet with eye holes. Or even more sad — a pine-cone. Due to this depressing state of affairs on Halloween ‘89 Nia made them dress up as Freddy Krueger.

Imre: to the surprise of no one he spent most of the 70s and all of the 80s as Indiana Jones. Thanks once again to Nia she managed to get him to agree to dress up as Rick Blaine from Casablanca from ‘90-‘92 and in ‘93 as Vito Corleone.

Nia: now she will never be caught dead wearing a costume two years in row. She’s done it all: princess, pirate, witch, fairy, Shirley temple, Andie Walsh from Pretty in pink, Sandy from Grease, Madonna, Cher, Tina Turner and in ‘93 she went as Morticia.

Lorcan: everyone always thought he was wearing a costume but those are literally his clothes. With the satanic panic of the 80s people did think he was dressed up as a devil worshipper. He did dress up as Marty Mcfly in like ‘91.

Salvatore: he was the type of dress up as all the gangsters, Michael, Tony, jimmy Conway from goodfellas. After dressing up as Travis bickle from taxi driver his mother only ever allowed him to dress up as a businessman.

Orla: whatever popular female movie character of that year was that’s what she dressed up as. Claire from the breakfast club, Ellen ripley, Lydia deetz, Princess Leia, sally from when Harry met sally, Sarah Connor, Lorraine mcfly.

Percival: he would just throw on a wig, get a band t-shirt and say he was whatever rockstar come to his head at that moment whether he looked like them or not — iggy pop, Jim Morrison, mick jagger, Freddie, Bowie, what-have-you.

Enjoy the night 💜

[brilliantfantasticgeronimo]

the star beast reactions:

the end of time part 2: “the story never ends” switches to “ the story hasnt ended yet” this show is driving me to cookoo land

taxi logo! Very 2005.

“That says grand mistress!” “oh, catch up” [….sentient physic paper headcanon? Maybe everything the doctor carries is secretly sentient sdlkfj rip all those sonics that fell in battle]

NERYS HAD AN ACCIDENT. KARMIC JUSTICE.

"me putting up with that" ksksksks "what do I care? I’ve got the true greatest girls in the world" just u wait for what’s coming shaun. Hope u always secretly wanted an autistic queerplatonic husband.

"and I shoukd know, I invented them!" bully!donna headcanon comfirmed (?) to go with already-canon teenage!wreck donna.

"oh, yes definetly" sylvia "queer-coded mom "mother of a queer " subtext finally becomes text as "grandmother of a queer"!!!!

"you had a bit of a breakdown… and then you got better" sksksks every “the doctor is a hallucination” dark!fic ever/ alternatively: amy coded

"I should be really happy"'... but sometimes I lie in bed thiking, what have I lost?" THIRTEEN CODED THIRTEEN CODED OH GOD THE REGRETS OVER DROPPING THE FOBWATCH….

“Fuge” is iconic

THE MUSIC IS DOING A THING!!!

14 is definetly someone who lived 11/12/13's lives lol my girl is so tired

"I’ve read the files" when UNIT personel says this the translation is: I’ve watched all of three’s era.

"I dont know who I am anymore" understatement of the billenia!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "she's happy! Is she?” I mean tbf, is anyone ever? in this economy? Lol

"I don’t believe in destiny but-" (yeah you do?)

"You know my rules, no secrets in this house" I wonder if Donna didn’t get at least a little bit mad after this that everyone lied to her for 15 years dlskjf

NERYS. VIPER IN THE NEST

the bit with wilf’s accomodation was a good subtle commentary about accesibility again…

ok…. But the definite article bit was excellent??? sdlkfj i swear fandom is so recalcitrant sometimes

"two hearts! so do I!" [rtd: in case u didn’t notice, this is what we call A Foil]

"that’s not concrete ', it’s mortar" "thank you, bob the builder"

the doc in the wig…………………… valeyard coded

There will be no violence... UNTIL he deems it fit and proper! and that’s GROWTH(tm)

solar psychodelia my beloved eu band

"it just felt like the sort of thing he woukd do" t.t

"who cares about me?" "i do" T.T!!!!!

(sdklfj tho ngl it feels like it escaletes to this emotional level wayyyy too quickly)

clifftops.... grief... fingerprint… THE SMELL OF DUST AFTER RAIN……..

I mean he did very much kill donna (again?) ddklSjs THIS IS A VERY SIGNIFICANT THING THAT JUST HAPPENED???

“She chose her own name…” trans doctor fodder?

"male and femape and neither and more" tbh this works rlly well on the metaphysical level I was talking about (note to self: elaborate on that in another post), do have to agree it sounds a bit iffy on the gender politics front...

"cryptic, I hate that" liar, you’re all about that

tbh "shame you are not a woman anymore" feels riiiiiight in line with "you two are just time lords, you dumbos!" sdkfj donna has to be a lil’ bioessentialist about meta cris-es every time doesn’t she.

"and we choose to let it go" / [the one adventure I could never have] / [terf island will eventually let go of transphobia] / [“how to let go of depression”: the scifi/adventure series]

"why does it have to be one last trip?" good question!!! yaz would like to know as well!!!

CONCLUSIONS!

Fun as hell! But i did feel a tinge disappointed that rose and the nobles aren’t that developed (and Shirley as well).

I think The Point and The Message is a bit clumsily delivered, but overall the writers’ hearts are in the right place and it does work philosophically for where (I think?) the series is going next. As a ~Trial Of A TimeLord Enjoyer~ the bit where 14 puts on a wig made me go feral.

The meep is well realized but tbh I don’t think the OG story is that strong? And I think my Hot Take is….. I think that a straight-forward story wasn’t super compatible with all the mechanics and logistics and exposition that this “fix fic-ing the doctordonna” story necessitates. So the whole thing feels kinda bogged down by having to be a recap.

Finally… I think the resolution feels a bit too... mechanical? because Rose is not developed / put as the POV at the start, it’s not enough of an emotional thrill to see her saving the day (other than like, idk, if I interpret Rose Noble triumphing being a metaphor for Donna’s life being complete when she has her own life but also the doctor back again (?)).

[queenlua]

holy heck i had no idea Shirley Jackson’s husband was such a piece of shit

Jackson’s husband, Stanley Hyman, was on her side in the beginning. A critic and academic with a wide circle of friends, he helped make their household a place of lively intellectual exchange (along with the heavy drinking that was common in those years). But he became jealous when his successes didn’t equal hers, and at home he was both tyrannical and useless: she cared for the children and did the cooking, at times with paid help, while he never ventured far enough into the kitchen even to make coffee. He was also a sexual harasser—one family friend he came onto her like a “steamroller”—who had affairs and made a point of letting her know. Shirley didn’t want an openn marriage and had no desire to suffer for love, but she didn’t feel strong enough to stand her ground against him. Instead she wrote him distressed letters she didn’t send and had breakdowns in which she gave in to despair and self-loathing. She flet so unsupported that at times she feared insanity.

One way Shirley coped with these psychic assaults was by turning them into comedy. In her bestselling chronicle of raising children, Life Among the Savages, she describes going into labor, a physical event that demands concentration and concern for the self, while her husband and children expect her to go on caring for them. In her account of trying to cook breakfast, then going alone to the hospital by taxi (Stanley couldn’t drive), she plays her abandonment for painful laughs.

[llamaheart]

Melissa was a little reluctant but by the time they got into a taxi, she was just as enthusiastic as Shirley to see what Bridgeport is all about!