In Those Dazzling Days of Elvis

by Josephine Rascoe Keenan

  I looked sensational. Good enough to be a junior class beauty. Quickly, I pulled the thin coat on and checked in the mirror again. I really was Julie in this dress, except for a barely noticeable pulling across the boobs. I would wear it tonight.

  “Take that dress off this very minute, or you aren’t going out with anybody!”

  Shocked, I turned toward the door. Elizabeth stood glaring at me.

  “Did you hear me? Take it off!”

  “I’m sorry, Mama E,” I said, stretching out my arms to fend her off as she stormed toward me.

  “Surely you weren’t thinking of wearing it?”

  “No! No! I just wanted to try it on. It’s so pretty. I never had anything so pretty.”

  “You don’t have it now. But I’d like to know why you’ve never had a dress that nice. Your stepfather makes a good salary.”

  “He’s a tightwad.”

  “You mean frugal?”

  “Hell, I don’t know!” I let her help slide my arms out of the coat. “He buys me clothes, but this is a dream.”

  “Well, dream on if you think you’re ever going to wear it,” Elizabeth said, pulling the hem of the dress up and peeling it off over my head.

  At the closet, she pulled out a lemon-colored cotton dress with puffed sleeves and tiny buttons running from the top of the white lace collar down to the waist and threw it on the bed.

  “There, that ought to keep you out of trouble.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said.

  “Not in the least.”

  —||—

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Bubba John said, staring at the buttons when he came inside to get me.

  “Not in the least,” I said with a grin.

  Flying down the street with one of the coolest boys in school in his red-and-white convertible brought the mauve Chevy to mind. How the lowly had risen. The wind blasted my face and decimated the curls I’d worked so hard to create with Julie’s curling iron.

  “I should’ve told you to bring a scarf,” Bubba John said. “Forgot all about it by the time my old man got through wearing me out the second time for that flagpole stunt. It was worth it, though. My mama saw old lady Armstrong in Samples at the lingerie counter, buying a new set of britches, white. Miss Glovina said she’d never again wear salmon undies. I said to Mama, ‘White makes sense. She’s bound to be a virgin. No man would have the old bag.’ My old man heard me, and that’s how come I got a second whipping. You a virgin, Julie, honey?”

  And so it went, for an hour, until I broke the news to him that my mama had told me I had to go out with Farrel for part of the night, to be fair to both of them.

  Bubba John pouted, but he took me home. At the door, he took my hand and held it up.

  “Where’s your splint?”

  I got way too many adrenalin rushes these days. I’d forgotten my fake finger splint.

  “Oh, I got it off early. Thought you’d never notice.”

  He gave me a look but said only, “Later, gator.”

  He was probably glad to be free to chase another skirt that night, maybe one with fewer buttons.

  —||—

  Farrel showed up dressed in blue slacks and a cotton shirt with pale-blue stripes. His hair was still damp with comb tracks, and he smelled divine.

  “I wore your favorite, Old Spice.” He smiled. “This feels like old times.”

  I turned on the tough act. “It’s new times, big boy, and don’t get any ideas.”

  He clearly had some, for his face fell. In the car, he backed his ears and tried again.

  “Shall we go to our place?”

  I had no clue what “our place” was.

  “Absolutely not. Mama’s let me out until ten thirty. If I’m not in by then, I can’t go out with you again—ever.”

  He shot an anxious look at his wrist watch. “That won’t give us much time.”

  “We don’t need much. I’m just going on this date to prove I’m not mad anymore about you and Maylene. In fact, I’d almost forgotten about it until you brought it up at the Dairyette.”

  While he drove, silent and brooding, I studied his profile. This was the father of my little niece or nephew to be. A part of me bore guilt for not telling him about Julie and the baby, but it wasn’t my place to do so.

  He made right for the oilfields. When he pulled onto the dirt road and parked near a plum tree, I instinctively moved farther away from him, my back pressed against the door. He flipped on the radio, and wouldn’t you know, Elvis’s voice singing “I Was the One” floated out into the mellow night.

  “Don’t be scared, honey. I’m not going to try anything.”

  He put his arm on the seat back and shifted to face me. I only smiled.

  “Not that I don’t want to. I do. I want you so bad, Julie. You’ve always done that to me.”

  “Done what?”

  “Made me want you, you know, like in the backseat.”

  Being careful about my phrasing, I said, “Now that you’ve been told I didn’t get pregnant that time we . . . did IT, you’re more than willing to put me at risk again.”

  “I said I wouldn’t try anything.”

  “I know what you said. I also know you will if you get half a chance.”

  “You’re a hard-headed woman, Julie. Come on. Let’s get out and wish on a star.”

  With his arm around my waist, we walked across the clearing to the plum tree.

  “Remember the first night I brought you here?” he said.

  My heart sped up. Of course I didn’t remember a thing about it, nor had Julie mentioned it.

  “I spread out that blanket I always carry in the trunk.”

  “That must make things convenient for you.”

  He sputtered. “I mean, my old man always carries. Please, honey, go with me on this. I’m trying to make things right with us again. Just think back with me. Remember how we kissed and how you were scared to take home the plums we picked ’cause your mama would put two and two together? You told me I’d better take them home to my mother.”

  I answered with the truth. “No, I’m afraid I don’t remember. You look like it makes a big difference to you that I don’t.”

  “It does. I’m not a man of words, Julie. I’m a man of action, but you won’t let me act. And you’re right. We shouldn’t mess around at all but . . .” He exhaled. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

  “Just fantasize, I guess.”

  I had never felt like such a conniver in all my life. It was a good feeling—a feeling of power—and I liked it.

  “Okay,” he said, taking my hand and looking up at the stars. “Let’s wish. I wish you would let me—” he began.

  “Better hush up. If you tell your wish, it won’t come true.”

  He looked at me with wide eyes. “That’s my line.”

  I tensed. “Your line?” Maybe he had led me into some secret ritual he and Julie acted out with the star-wishing bit.

  “I’ve always been the one that told you not to say your wish out loud.”

  “Whoever’s line,” I said. “You’re the one who better not say your wish out loud, if you want it to ever come true.”

  He was breathing hard.

  “I do want it to, Julie. I do.”

  He put his hands on my waist, stared into my eyes, and bending down, pressed his lips to mine. With calculated detachment, I let him go into a deep kiss I knew would lay bare the magic he had that drove Julie nuts. I found out, all right. His kiss was good. No, it was better than good. It jazzed me up. No wonder she flipped over him. This was the finest kissing I’d ever had.

  His hand slid up from my waist. The way he touched my boob, only on top of my clothes, mind you, turned me into putty. I was almost unable to resist when he reached to pull up my dress—almost, but not quite.

  I slapped his cheek and demanded he take me home. To my surprise, he agreed.

  At the door, he surprised me again.

  “You
know something, honey, your knockers have grown. Did you know that? In just this short time since we were together last, they’ve gotten bigger.”

  “It hasn’t been a short time. We haven’t been out since last December.”

  “Naw.” He cut his eyes away. “It can’t have been that long.”

  “You must have mine mixed mine up with Maylene’s.”

  He laughed. “Maylene’s too uptight to let a boy fool around with her.”

  “Then you did try.”

  “Naw, now. Don’t go cooking up stuff. Hers are so little that when we were slow dancing I felt a tiny bump on her back and I thought one of them had slipped around behind, but it was only a mosquito bite.”

  I watched, solemn, while he guffawed.

  “Come on, honey, lighten up. You know old Maylene would never let me mash her. But I’m telling you, yours have gotten bigger. If that don’t beat all.”

  Chapter 18

  OLD “AINT” HAT

  She traveled by train. Mama E and I met her at the station on a bright Saturday morning in June.

  She “disembarked,” as she called it, wearing a black-and-white polka-dot dress and a wide-brimmed white hat. She wore one white glove and carried the other and gripped the handle of a large bag that looked to have been made from an old Persian rug. I lightly ran my fingers over the fabric.

  “It’s an authentic carpet bag, left over from Reconstruction days,” she said. “My great-grandmother passed it down. Her daddy shot a carpetbagger who was attempting to steal the last mule the family had left after the war. The Yankees took our mules, our horses, and our cows, but he got that Yankee’s carpetbag.”

  “She means the Civil War,” Mama E said low to me as we stood watching Aint Hat collect her trunk and two suitcases from the brakeman in charge of baggage.

  Right off the bat, I nearly blew it with what was meant to be a friendly gesture.

  “Let me carry something, Aint Hattie.”

  The old bat turned arrogant eyes on me, chin aloft, expression scornful.

  Mama E jumped in. “Aunt Hattie will be pleased with any help you can give, I’m sure, and let’s hope it will all fit in the car.”

  I about died, but I got the message. I had to switch from Aint to Aunt, PDQ.

  “I’m having the trunk delivered,” Aunt Hattie said. “And don’t worry, I’m not moving in. I’m on a Southern pilgrimage. After I finish up with you two, I’m heading to Paragould to visit Cousin Nettie and her family, then on to Hot Springs to take the baths. Let me hold onto your arm, Julie. I’d hate to take a tumble before I even get to the house.”

  “Isn’t Paragould up near Memphis?” I asked, hardly daring to say anything at all, but thinking I would draw more attention to myself if I didn’t join in.

  “It is,” she said. “And no, I won’t be visiting the new star of rock ’n’ roll. Are you a fan of Mr. Presley, Julie?”

  “I’m not only a fan, I’m a friend. We’ve been writing for over a year.” I had my mouth open to tell her he sent me his records too, when I caught Mama E’s wide eyes and slight shake of her head.

  “You’re corresponding with a person who exhibits himself on the stage? I’m sorry to hear that, Julie.”

  The increased pressure of Aunt Hattie’s grip on my arm with her ungloved hand riveted my attention on her ring, half encased in her fleshy finger, its enormous diamond glinting in the sunlight. To a girl like me, whose mother wore only a gold band and a pair of dangling earrings my stepfather bought her on their honeymoon, it looked to be at least fifteen carats.

  “Four,” she said, reading my mind. “Four carats, and don’t gawk. You’ve seen it before. Every time you’ve been with me, in fact, given that I haven’t been able to get it off my finger since nineteen ought nine.”

  A frenzied need to perform a vanishing act seized me.

  When the polka-dotted hem was tucked safely out of the way, I shut the door of the front passenger seat and crawled in back, grateful to have my face behind her so it couldn’t betray me again. On the drive home, she and Elizabeth chatted about the world situation, which Aunt Hat declared was deplorable with the cost of gasoline at thirty-one cents a gallon.

  “How much do you make a year, Elizabeth, working at that old law office?”

  “It’s not an old office, Auntie, and I make thirty-five hundred dollars a year. Look how pretty the courthouse is with all the flowers planted around it.”

  “Thirty-five hundred dollars a year! How do you keep the child in clothes?”

  Elizabeth sighed. “I manage.”

  “Those cheapskates ought to at least pay you a living wage. After all, without you and others like you to type their so-called erudite briefs, they’d never darken the doors of a courtroom.”

  Elizabeth gave a little bounce behind the wheel. “If women could unite and form a union like the coal miners, we’d have some clout behind our struggle for higher wages,” she said, her breath coming in quick jerks. “Not to mention health care and a pension.”

  Aunt Hattie turned her face toward Mama E, allowing me a view of her profile.

  “You haven’t turned Communist, have you, Elizabeth?”

  Mama E shot a quick look at Aunt Hattie. “How could you even think such a thing?”

  “People in unions are Communists.”

  “Just because people unite to have strength in numbers doesn’t make them Communists,” I said.

  She turned raised eyebrows at me. “Is that what they’re teaching you in school these days?”

  “We’d best change the subject,” Mama E said.

  Aunt Hattie whipped her head around to face the front.

  “What about alimony? Couldn’t you squeeze a few dollars out of Scott Morgan now that he’s sobered up enough to hold down a job?”

  “How do you know about that?” Mama E asked.

  Aunt Hattie’s hat bobbed. “I have my sources.”

  I could see the blood drain from Elizabeth’s face. That comment must have struck her to the core, as it had me. Could Aunt Hattie’s “sources” have informed her about me and Julie switching places?

  Mama E slammed on the brakes at a red light.

  “I wouldn’t take a dime from him!”

  “Pride goeth before a fall,” Aunt Hattie pronounced, turning again to look back over the seat at me. “Do you see your father at all these days?”

  “What do your sources tell you?”

  Mama E shouted, “Carmen!”

  Aunt Hattie straightened. “What did you say, Elizabeth?”

  Mama E cleared her throat. “I started to say, Carmen Newton, Julie’s half-sister, is living here in town now, and she and Julie have gotten together of late. Isn’t that so, Julie?”

  “Uh . . . yes.” I held my breath that her sources hadn’t told her my mother had left town.

  “I shouldn’t think you’d allow the child to associate with riffraff,” Aunt Hattie said.

  “Carmen isn’t riffraff!” My voice was way too loud.

  “I was referring to your father, Scott,” Aunt Hattie said. “I’ve never so much as laid my eyes on Miss Carmen. But I don’t imagine she could be anything other than riffraff herself, considering her background and lineage.”

  My voice trembled with rage. “Half of her background and lineage is the same as mine!”

  “But your other half is not the same, and half is enough to save you,” the old biddy said.

  It wasn’t easy dealing with people in Julie’s social class. Hypocrites, all. If Mama E hadn’t turned into the driveway right then, there is no telling what else I might have said.

  We hauled the suitcases to the guest room, and while I went to check the mail, Mama E fixed three glasses of iced tea. There was a letter from Elvis, and a letter from Mother. Glancing over my shoulder, I tore into it, knowing it was imperative, as Mama E would say, to keep it hidden from Aunt Hattie. All Mother said was she had arrived safely in London and that my stepfather sent his love. I didn’t know what to do
with the letter from Elvis.

  Aunt Hattie was still in her room when I joined Mama E in the den.

  “Any mail?” she asked.

  “A letter from Mother,” I mouthed.

  “Take it to the incinerator in the backyard and burn it. Now!”

  “Don’t get so rattled. It’s safe in my pocket. I have to copy down her address before I get rid of it.”

  “You’re not doing well,” Elizabeth said in a low voice. “Calling her ‘Aint’ Hattie.”

  “It’s your fault. You never told me to pronounce it ‘aunt.’ As for who isn’t doing well, you called me ‘Carmen.’”

  Mama E wiped her brow. “Thank God you’ll be in summer school most of the time. Any other mail?”

  “A letter from Elvis.”

  “You didn’t open it, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t open it,” I said, my words dripping with disgust at her lack of trust.

  “I promised I’d forward any letters from him. She wouldn’t like it if they were opened.” After a few minutes, she asked, “Where did you put it?”

  “I left it on the doohickey.”

  “The doohickey you’re referring to wouldn’t happen to be the antique commode in the living room, would it?” an imperious voice said from the breakfast room. Aunt Hattie was making her way into the den, holding the letter aloft.

  Me and Mama E both lost our cool.

  “You know how kids are,” Mama E said. “Julie can’t bear to call it by its proper name.”

  “No, I absolutely cannot,” I said.

  “I presume this is from Mr. Presley,” Aunt Hattie said, waving the envelope, “since it bears a Memphis postmark.”

  “May I have it, please?” I asked, putting on my polite voice.

  “Since you put it so nicely, here.” She thrust the envelope into my outstretched hand and settled herself on the red couch next to me. After a few moments, she asked, “Aren’t you going to open it?”