In Those Dazzling Days of Elvis

by Josephine Rascoe Keenan

  “No. I wanted him to, but he didn’t. He said his mama had raised him right. I think he might have kissed me at the door when he brought me home, but my mama chose that moment to materialize.”

  Marty took a step back and looked at me for a long minute, skepticism written all over her face.

  “What if I said I don’t believe a word you’re saying? I bet all this trauma of being pregnant has scrambled your brains and you’re hallucinating.”

  “Marty, at this point I am so miserable it doesn’t make a hell’s bit of difference to me. I did meet Elvis, he does write to me, and you can believe it or not. I really don’t care.”

  She reached out to stop me, but I evaded her and continued on down the street.

  “Wait, girl!” she cried, catching up and seizing my arm. “Okay, I believe you.”

  “Like I said, I really don’t care.”

  We walked again in silence, my throat aching at the remembrance of that night that now seemed a lifetime ago. I was a different girl then, innocent, unaware of how one decision could ruin a person’s life. On the heels of that memory came one of Farrel smiling at me in the oilfields. No matter how bitter it was, some parts of that night would always remain beautiful to me—the moon throwing its light on the clouds, the music, and Farrel’s kiss that said the words “I love you” that he had never uttered to me.

  A radio blaring from somewhere brought me back to reality.

  “It’s hard to believe that guy back there on the poster is the same guy I met when he was struggling to make it. Maybe somehow I am his good luck charm. He flew to the top after we met. Miracles do happen—to some people.”

  “The only miracle we’re going to see is the miracle of birth,” Marty said as we strolled along. “I wish to God I’d had an abortion while I could. Giving up my baby hurts a thousand times worse than that must.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  She shrugged. “Lots of reasons, not the least being I was brought up to believe that sort of thing was not only wrong but dangerous.”

  “It is dangerous,” I said. “You can’t get a legitimate doctor to give you one. It’s against the law. You have to get it done in some back alley. A friend of mine died from one that was botched in a place like that.”

  She shook her head. “I guess I made the right decision. And I guess giving the kid away will be the right thing, but God, I don’t want to. Have you signed the adoption papers yet?”

  “Miss Oldenburg tried to make me, but I insisted on reading them over first.”

  Marty’s eyes lit. “I haven’t signed mine either. Every time I see her, she tries to get me to. Hey, look, here’s the newsstand I told you about. Want to go in?”

  We stepped inside the little store. A skinny man needing a shave sat on a stool behind the counter.

  “Help ya?”

  “We’re just browsing,” Marty said.

  “Browse, but don’t read,” he snapped. “You read, you pay.”

  I wandered to the newspaper rack. It seemed like eons since I’d read a paper. A newspaper banner leaped out at me. The El Dorado Daily News.

  “My hometown paper is here!”

  Marty turned a pleased smile on me. “I told you you’d like this place.”

  I pulled a copy from the rack.

  “That’ll be ten cents,” said the man behind the counter.

  I strode toward him, pulling out change from my pocket.

  “Here, take twenty cents.” I slung two dimes at him. “I’ll buy one for my friend too. Marty, get yourself a copy, and let’s go to that diner. You can read all my hometown society news. Then you’ll have an idea of why I ended up here.”

  She grinned, and with light hearts we headed down the street toward the pink neon sign flashing “Diner” into the spring evening that was now fading into darkness.

  Chapter 23

  ALWAYS ON MY MIND

  On June twenty-third, Miss Oldenburg shook me awake before her reveille siren went off.

  “Shake a leg. There’s a call for you in my office, and I can’t have my phone tied up with you girls whining and blubbering all day.”

  Throwing back the covers, I jerked on my clothes, and ignoring other needs, I rushed down the steps to Miss Oldenburg’s office on the first floor. She held out the receiver of an old-timey black phone and handed me a note printed in large letters. Five minutes.

  “Give my best to your mother, Julie, dear,” she said on her way out, loud enough to be heard on the other end of the line. Her voice reeked with phony cordiality.

  “Hello?” I said when the door closed behind her.

  “Happy Birthday!”

  “Oh, Mama, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

  I used all my strength to hold back the tears pooling in my eyes.

  “Seventeen years old today,” she said. “How are you, my darling?”

  I forced brightness into my tone. “Fine. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Aunt Hattie’s still here. She’s just told us this morning, she may stay all summer. It’s so hot in New Orleans.”

  “Isn’t it just as hot in El Dorado?” I asked.

  “Hotter than the hinges of hell. The attic and ceiling fans run day and night.”

  “How’s Carmen?”

  “She’s fine. We sneaked off to the pay phone across the street from the high school to call you—the one by the Wildcat Café—so Aunt Hattie wouldn’t hear. And we have to be careful. Carmen says that Bubba John Younger’s mother says anyone who uses a pay phone must be having an affair.” Mama’s laugh sounded lame. “We don’t have a lot of change either, so we can’t talk long. And besides, we’re having a party for Carmen later on this afternoon to celebrate your birthday.”

  “Oh.” My spirits deflated like a punctured inner tube.

  “Well, what else could we do, darling? All the carpool girls were asking what she was going to do on her birthday. We decided, if we didn’t do something, it would arouse suspicion. Besides, you remember it’s Aunt Hattie’s birthday too. I’m making two cakes—a yellow with eight egg yolks and a white with the eight leftover whites. I’ll use coconut icing on the white one and chocolate on the yellow.”

  I was missing out on everything.

  “Mama, I wanted to talk to you alone, without Carmen standing there listening.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  I could hear her breathing turn rapid.

  “No, I just . . . I mean . . . I feel like I’ve lost you, not being able to have a private word.”

  “I’m sorry it was a bad time when you called. It has been like pulling teeth to escape from Aunt Hattie long enough to get to the pay phone and call you back.”

  The operator’s voice broke in. “Please deposit another twenty-five cents.”

  “Oh, all right. Just a minute. Shoot! I dropped it. Julie, catch that quarter. It’s rolling into the street. Hold on, operator.”

  I automatically glanced around the floor for the quarter before the shocking realization swept over me of what Mama had said.

  The sound of money dropping into the slot rang in my ear.

  “There now, I’m back,” she said.

  “Mama, you called her ‘Julie’!”

  “Oh dear, did I? I’ve gotten so in the habit of it with Hattie here. I live in terror I’ll forget and call her Carmen.”

  “Mama, I’ve tried to call again, several times, but the lines for the two phones are so long, and people talk forever. I almost never get my turn before we are required to do something.”

  “They only have two phones?” she said, alarm in her voice.

  I hadn’t meant to tell her that. I swallowed hard.

  “In addition to this one, but it’s Miss Oldenburg’s private phone. Next time call me on the house number she gave you.”

  We didn’t say anything for a minute while I fought back tears.

  “Listen, honey, Carmen wants to speak with you, but first, are you sure you’re doing all right?”

 
; “I guess.”

  “Have you been seen by the doctor?”

  I had, but only once. “Yes. He said I needed to gain more weight.”

  “Then eat,” she said. “Those words would be music to my ears.”

  She would die if she knew about the canned meat we’d been served last night.

  “I don’t dare send you a birthday package because I’d have to get it weighed, and with Happiness House’s address on it, old Miss Daniels, the postal worker I always get, would be sure to put two and two together.”

  “It’s okay, Mama. It’s not much of a birthday anyway.”

  “Don’t slip into self-pity, honey. You know I wouldn’t neglect your birthday. I sent a card with a little something inside for your secret bag. Be on the lookout for it.”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall of Miss Oldenburg’s office. Five minutes had gone by.

  “The operator is going to come on wanting more money if we don’t hurry,” Mama said. “Here, I’m putting Carmen on. I love you, darling. Take care of yourself, and call. I’ll practice my double-talk so, if Aunt Hattie overhears us, she won’t catch on.”

  “Bye, Mama. I love you too.”

  “Hi, sis,” came Carmen’s voice over the wire.

  “Hi. Have a happy birthday for me, will you?”

  “That bad, huh?” she replied.

  “Yep, but don’t let on to Mama. How are things going? Do people believe you are me?”

  “Seems like they do. I had to transfer out of French class, but Aunt Hattie speaks fluent French, and seeing as how she lives down there in New Orleans among all those Frenchies, she’s teaching me some. And I found your clarinet in the closet, and I’ve been using the fingering chart to teach myself how to play.”

  “What on earth for?” I demanded. “I’ll be back before football season starts. You’ll never need it.”

  “Have you forgotten summer band practice? August nineteenth we start rehearsing the half-time show for the first game. I have to know how to play by then. The broken finger routine has long been put to rest.”

  “Oh.” I looked at my own finger that had been broken. I could use it, but it was hard to bend. “Don’t forget, your joints will be stiff,” I cautioned.

  “Righto. Listen, I’d better go.”

  “Carmen.”

  “What?”

  I took a breath. “Have you seen him?”

  “Who?”

  “You know who.”

  “Honey girl, I’ve seen ’em all. You’re the most popular gal in these parts. I’m seeing to that. Boys are beating down the door. Eugene, Justin, Bubba John Younger. Makes me wonder if old Farrel put out the word that you put out.” She laughed at her own version of a joke. “Don’t clam up on me now. I’m just joshing. Jesus, Mama E heard me say that. I thought she was reading the menu of the Wildcat Café. Julie knows I’m kidding, Mama E,” she said, away from the receiver. “Don’t get cranked.”

  “What did you call my mother?” My voice sounded wildly out of control.

  A slight pause followed. “I called her Mama E. Get real, Julie. I can’t call her Elizabeth.”

  I nodded to myself. I was being irrational. “Of course you can’t. Mama E is fine, if it helps keep up the front.”

  “Good. Now listen, I gotta tell you something about Eugene. He shaping up. He might move into the cool category in another twenty years.”

  “That’ll be the day. Is he still going with Rhonda?”

  “Not when he can get a date with me. I mean you.” Her voice dropped again into a whisper. “He’s is so crazy about you, Julie. I couldn’t turn him down. We went to the drive-in one night, and I let him, you know.”

  “No, I don’t know. You let him what?”

  “He’d never touched a girl’s titties. He told me old Rhonda knocks him sky-west and crooked when he tries to touch hers. So I let him have a small feel. On the top of my shirt only. He asked if he could put his hand inside my bra, but I wouldn’t let him, of course. If I did that, next thing you know he’d be trying to get in my pants, and I’m staying a virgin after seeing what’s happened to you. But a little bit goes a long way toward keeping a girl popular, and besides, I thought he deserved a little thrill. Remember that when you get home and go out with him. He’s played with your titties.”

  “I can’t believe you would let him do that thinking it was me.”

  “Honey, he loved it.”

  “Carmen, have you seen Farrel?”

  A beat.

  “Sure, I’ve seen him. He’s working in the oil fields with Dad, you know.”

  “With Dad?”

  “They’re on the same crew. He mentioned that one day Dad had a flask in his pocket. But it was only that one time because the owner of the rig caught him and gave him a warning.”

  “Where were y’all when Farrel told you this?”

  “Hmmm. Let me think. The Dairyette, I believe.”

  I could tell she was trying to evade the question. “Carmen, have you been out with him?”

  “I cannot tell a lie.”

  “You have. I knew it! How could you do this to me? You promised you wouldn’t go out with him.”

  “I had my fingers crossed.”

  Her answer left me numb.

  Miss Oldenburg opened the door to her office. “Hurry up,” she mouthed.

  I held up a finger. “One minute more.”

  “No.”

  I put my hand over the mouthpiece. “Please, Miss Oldenburg, just one more minute. Or I’ll tell Mother you’re using us instead of paying staff to run the place.”

  “Make it snappy,” she said, and giving a snort, she left the room again, slamming the door behind her.

  “Okay, back again,” I said to Carmen. “Why did you go out with Farrel?”

  “Look, it would have been suspicious if I hadn’t. I had to prove to him that I’m . . . I mean that you’re not pregnant.”

  “Did he try anything?”

  “Well, you know how guys are. Listen, Justin has the hots for you, big time. You ought to focus on him when you get home.”

  “Did Farrel try to kiss you?”

  “Deposit twenty-five cents, please,” the operator said.

  “Did he?”

  “What do you care? You don’t love him anymore, do you?”

  “No . . . I don’t, but he’s always on my mind.”

  “That doesn’t sound like ‘no’ to me. Well, if you do love him, you shouldn’t. And don’t worry. He thought he was kissing you, and I kept it to one kiss, I promise.”

  How could I trust her promises now?

  “Listen, sis, I gotta go. We’re running out of quarters. Call in the afternoon between two and four. That’s when Aunt Hat takes her nap. Don’t write. She checks the mail every day looking for a letter from Elvis. She’d be sure to see anything you sent.”

  “Have there been any letters from Elvis?”

  “Yep, one. It’s in Mama E’s envelope to you.”

  “Twenty-five cents,” demanded the operator.

  “Bye, Jules. Chin up. Gotta get ready for your birthday party.”

  A click on the line and they were gone. A click of the door and Miss Oldenburg was back in the room, glaring at me.

  “Except for the fact that it’s your birthday, you’d have extra KP duty, miss. I’ll let you off this one time. But don’t try it again.”

  “I won’t, Miss Oldenburg. I’m sorry. I hadn’t talked with my mother since I got here.”

  Tears I couldn’t stave off ran down my cheeks.

  For once, Miss Oldenburg’s face took on a look of sympathetic understanding.

  “I hope you’ve learned your lesson, Julie. You can’t engage in irresponsible sex and not pay the penalty. All you girls have to learn that.”

  “I know,” I said through a sob.

  A thought occurred to me as I looked at her looking at me. Maybe she’d had a child out of wedlock herself. Maybe she was punishing herself for it by being so mean to us. S
omeday I might get up the courage to ask her.

  “And Julie,” she said as I moved toward the door, “I’ll expect you back here after breakfast tomorrow to sign the adoption papers. It’s time to resolve things about this baby.”

  Chapter 24

  IN MY OWN SKIN

  A manila envelope came in the mail that morning shortly after my phone call. I ate a hurried lunch and made the climb upstairs to the dorm to open it before the other girls came up. Inside were Mama’s birthday card with a twenty tucked inside and a letter from Elvis.

  I sat staring at Elvis’s letter. The shock of having been violated hit me. A small rip on the edge of the flap, as well as excess glue on the seal, betrayed that the letter had been opened. Neither Carmen nor Mama had said a word about having read it. Translated, that meant they didn’t want me to know.

  Even though Mama usually asked what Elvis said in his letters, she had never, and I knew she would never open mail addressed to me. She’d read mail I’d already opened and hidden under my mattress, but to her, actually opening another person’s mail was tantamount to stealing.

  Carmen was another story. I didn’t know her convictions about such things. Still, it might not have been Carmen. With me gone, maybe Mama had felt it her duty to censor what was sent to me at the home. No matter who it was, I felt violated. Someone had read my letter from Elvis.

  I removed the little bag from my bra and stuffed the twenty in with the hundred-dollar bill. When it was pinned safely back in its place, I stared out the window by my bed, wishing I had enough to escape from this place, get on a plane, and fly to Memphis or California, wherever Elvis was, and pretend for a time I was the girl I used to be. The thought swelled my throat. Most likely I would never see Elvis again, except on the big screen. And no way under heaven would I ever again be the girl I used to be, for no amount of money would permit me to escape from myself.

  My baby moved inside me. A surge of love so great it was indescribable went through me—overpowering the desolation I’d felt after reading Elvis’s letter and distracting me from thoughts of escape. No, I would stay here and have my baby, Farrel’s and my baby. There was no escape anyway, even if you did have a big movie star for a friend. I still had to live in my own skin.