Blue Like Elvis

by Diane Moody

  I had to admit I was ready to begin a new life. I fell in love with Memphis, and Rachel helped me get an interview to work at Baptist where she worked. No, not in the accounting department. I’m horrible with numbers.

  Rachel told me about a unique program at Baptist. Turns out the hospital president, Dr. William Grieve, had pioneered the program patterned after that of stewardesses. Apparently, the highly-esteemed Dr. Grieve loved to fly and he especially loved those classy young women who waited on him on board. Now, I mean that in the good sense of the word. He was a true Southern gentleman who loved the Lord. It would never have crossed his mind to view these young women with anything but pure respect. He appreciated their professionalism, their attention to detail, their friendly manners, and their genuine desire to help everyone aboard feel relaxed and comfortable—even if flight conditions deteriorated or became perilous.

  I’m told Dr. Grieve returned from a trip to New York City with the idea for a cutting-edge hospital program that would be yet another revolutionary concept in hospital care. He dubbed it the Hostess Program, though they would later be called Patient Representatives. I suppose that sounded more professional and less like a hospital version of Welcome Wagon. These young women would be carefully selected from good families with good reputations. A college degree was mandatory. They would be part of the chaplain department, and as such, each hostess was required to be a member in good standing at a local Southern Baptist Church. They would be provided uniforms, much like those the stewardesses wore—impeccable suits designed to set them apart from other hospital employees. Each hostess would be assigned a floor of the hospital and be responsible for visiting all of her patients every day, offering a warm smile, an outstretched hand, and an offer to run errands or to simply be a listening ear. If the patient was so inclined, she would gladly pray for them.

  It seemed like a dream job, and I couldn’t wait for the interview Rachel set up for me. I met with Virginia Baker, the head of the hostess department, and by the end of our meeting, she offered me the job. I’m sure the fact that Rachel and Rich were members of the church where her husband served on staff might have influenced her decision to hire me. But I like to think it was an answer to prayer.

  A flutter of butterflies drifted through my stomach as I drove closer to the hospital. I uttered a brief prayer for a sense of calm on this, my first day. Then that funny DJ on the radio caught my attention again.

  “Rick Dees in the A.M.!” It was a jingle I’d grown fond of, even in the few short days I’d been in Memphis. Dees was a local disc jockey who possessed a truly bizarre sense of humor. He made me laugh out loud—something I’d forgotten to do the last few months. His silly parodies and wild impersonations always put a smile on my face. Perfect for a morning like this.

  “Good morning, it’s ten before eight on this beautiful spring day here in the Home of the Blues . . . Wait! What’s this I hear? Who’s that knocking at the door?”

  A door squeaked open. “Hu-hu-hullo?” Dees mimicked in his Elvis-mode.

  Rick responded, “Why looky here, it’s the Big E himself! Ladies and gentlemen, welcome my good friend, the King, Elvis Presley!” Raucous canned applause filled the radio waves.

  “Why, thank you. Thu-thu-thu-thank you very much. I just stopped by for a juh-juh-juh jel-ly donut and a geetar strangggg. You happen to have those here, Rickuh-Rickuh-Rickuhdees?”

  It seems dear “Elvis” felt the need to launch into song with every sentence. I couldn’t help laughing.

  “No, nossir, Big E. I don’t. You and me, Elvis, we’re like burgers ‘n fries, milk ‘n cookies, pork rinds and Cheez Its, know what I mean? We’re tight. If I had ‘em, they’d be yours. But no can do this morning, Big E. No donuts, no stranggggs.”

  The sound of a door slamming broke a brief silence. The King had evidently left the building.

  “See?” Rick continued. “We’re tight. Like brothers. So while Elvis goes’n hunts him some juh-juh-juh jel-ly donuts, let’s play us “A Little Less Conversation.”

  “Sorry, Rick,” I said out loud, “but I can’t handle any Elvis today.” I switched the station, finding some Crosby, Stills, and Nash singing “Just a Song Before I Go.” Much better.

  You’d think as a native Memphis belle, I’d love Elvis. I don’t know why, but he just never did much for me. Granted, his music was a little before my time. I was born in 1953. By the time I was a teenager and started listening to music, he was already 30 years old. Old. My mother played his songs day and night, but I was much more interested in the Beatles, the Herman’s Hermits, and Paul Revere and the Raiders.

  That and the whole Cadillac thing. I mentioned my dad was a Cadillac dealer. Before he got his first dealership in Birmingham, he worked at Brentwood Cadillac in Memphis. I was much too young to know it at the time, but the story goes that a young, relatively unknown Elvis strolled into the showroom one day and wanted to know about one of the convertibles on the floor. The salesman thought he was just a hood, so basically ignored his questions and refused to let him test drive the DeVille. Dad saw what was happening and made sure he picked up the slack of his stupid colleague. He had no idea who the kid with the jet black hair was, but he knew a customer when he saw one. Elvis bought twelve Cadillacs that day, and Dad became his go-to guy for all his Caddies. And oh, how Elvis loved buying Cadillacs. The longer, the flashier, the better.

  And even though Dad was known throughout Memphis for being Elvis’s Cadillac connection, I still didn’t get what all the fuss was about Elvis. Maybe I was just too young.

  Crosby, Stills and Nash finished their beautiful harmonies just as I pulled into the gated parking lot in the shadow of Baptist Memorial Hospital. The largest private hospital in the world, BMH stood as a proud landmark, its massive stone butterfly shape spanning from Madison Avenue to Union in midtown Memphis. I took one last look in the rearview mirror, making sure I looked okay. I was pleased to see my hair shine in the morning sunlight, always a good thing for a brunette. The emerald blouse I’d chosen to wear seemed to really bring out the green in my hazel eyes today. Even my mascara looked good for a change, always a challenge for me. I dashed another swipe of gloss on my lips, grabbed my purse, and stepped out of my car.

  I was proud to make that walk from the parking lot to my new place of employment, and proud to finally put some of my training to work. As I entered the building from Union Avenue, I tried once again to steel my nerves. I loved knowing I was going to be a part of this great institution and one of its nearly five-thousand employees.

  My first real grown-up job. Time to do this!

  Chapter 2

  I made my way to the hostess office on the first floor of the Madison wing. Mrs. Baker was seated at her desk in the small outer office.

  “Welcome, Shelby! How nice to see you again. Are you excited?” She stood up, extending her hand to me.

  I shook it firmly as Daddy had always taught me to do. “I sure am. A little nervous, but very excited. Thank you so much for hiring me, Mrs. Baker.”

  “My pleasure. Now come on back and let me introduce you to the other girls. You’ll be heading to orientation this afternoon, but I want you to get your feet wet this morning.”

  Feet wet? Whoa. I thought I’d have more time to learn the ropes.

  “Girls, I want to introduce you to our newest hostess. This is Shelby Colter. Shelby’s a graduate of Samford University, raised in Birmingham, but she was born right here in Memphis. You girls introduce yourselves and make her welcome. Shelby, after you say hello, you and I will go have coffee and chat for awhile.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks, Mrs. Baker.”

  “Girls, be nice to her.” With that she sashayed back to her desk.

  I couldn’t believe how small the back room was. How on earth could it accommodate a dozen hostesses? Two vinyl sofas lined the walls with a corner end table between them. The girls were crammed on the sofas, on the arms of the sofas, on the floor, with several of them standing in front of a
full length mirror putting final touches on their make-up.

  “Hey, Shelby. I’m Sarah Beth McCracken. I’ve been here the longest so I’ll introduce everyone.”

  Sometimes you can size up a person in the first few seconds you meet them. I had Sarah Beth pegged before the first introduction was made. Type A personality. Self-appointed queen of the hostesses. Brunette, attractive, in a business sort of way. Perfectly groomed, right down to her polished nails and immaculately coiffed hair. Not a hair out of place.

  She went around the room, telling me names I knew I’d forget along with their assigned floors.

  Debra, who had maybe the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, worked the Urology floor. “Or the waterworks floor, as we like to call it,” she said with a friendly wink. “Hi, Shelby.”

  Debra. Blue, blue eyes. Ash blonde. Friendly, I said to myself, trying to make mental notes.

  Mindy worked the obstetrics floor. “That’s on Five. I’m also in charge of the newborn pictures, so I have my own office up there in the prayer room.” She leaned closer to me. “It’s also where we hang out when we need a break from Mrs. B. Come on up anytime.” Her eyebrows danced along with her smile.

  Mindy. Long blonde hair. Tall and slender. Confident. Obstetrics. How would I ever remember all their names?

  “Leila works the pediatric floor,” Sarah Beth continued, “but you won’t see much of her. They keep her running.”

  Leila, gave me a quick wave as she rounded the corner. “Nice to meet you. We’ll talk later, okay? Gotta run.”

  Leila. Another short one. Sable brown chin-length hair. Pediatrics. Cute girl.

  “Chelsea works on Twelve with our neuro patients. But don’t assume that makes her any smarter than the rest of us,” Sarah Beth quipped.

  Chelsea smiled. “Ah, but I am. It’s all that extra brain fluid flowing up there. Sticky stuff, but it does tend to make you smart.”

  “Gross!” one of the girls said. “Did you have to say that? I’m eating my yogurt here.”

  And on and on it went. Two of the girls weren’t in the office, already up on their floors. Another was home sick. Twelve hostesses in all, all beautiful and dressed in gorgeous rust-colored suits. I noticed they all wore hose and heels. It had been a long time since I’d stepped into anything but running shoes, but I’d adjust. Their pin-striped blouses had matching ties attached, which were tied in the latest style to form a classic bow at the neck.

  Just then, a door in the corner of the office opened. Out walked a drop dead gorgeous brunette from the small restroom. I wasn’t sure how she’d kept a tan like that this early in spring, but I was sure it was from some recent tropical vacation and not a bottle of Coppertone. Her blue eyes sparkled beneath thick black lashes, her smile radiant with the whitest teeth I’d ever seen. “Well, hey! You must be Shelby, my replacement. I’m Pamela Smythe.” Suddenly I was engulfed in a hug and dizzy from a cloud of Chanel No. 5.

  “Nice to meet you, Pamela.”

  “Babe? You ready?”

  We all turned toward the door which was now filled by a god. Okay, not a god. But maybe the most handsome man I’d ever seen in person. His white lab coat contrasted with a tan that matched Pamela’s exactly, a navy silk tie knotted under his heavily starched blue oxford cloth shirt. His full name was embroidered on the left pocket. Franklin Warrick, M.D.

  “Oh hey, honey. I’m ready. But I want you to meet Shelby. She’s taking my place up on Nine. Shelby, this is Franklin, my fiancé.”

  Thankfully, he didn’t try to hug me. Though even a handshake away, I caught a whiff of his Aramis cologne. It made my knees go weak. “Shelby. Nice to meet you,” he said, taking my hand.

  Pamela peeked at the mirror one more time, touching a manicured pinky to the edge of her lips. Then she turned, placing a hand on my arm. That’s when I glimpsed the rock on her finger. A marquis, easily two carats. I tried not to let my jaw drop, but I’m fairly sure it did.

  “I’m going to grab a quick bite of breakfast with Franklin, then I’ll meet you back here and we’ll head up to Nine. Cardiology! You’ll love it up there. We call it ‘the floor with heart.’”

  A round of moans followed her out the door. “That’s because she hooked that big delicious heart throb up there,” said the short Puerto Rican whose name I recalled was Sandra. They all laughed and made a few playful digs about the striking beauty and her doctor—all in good taste, of course.

  “Shelby?” Now it was Mrs. Baker filling the door. “Let’s go for coffee, shall we? Girls, get up to your floors. Time’s a wasting.”

  We took our seats in the dining room that overlooked Madison Avenue. Linen tablecloths, fine china, and silver. A far cry from the usual hospital cafeteria.

  As if she’d read my mind, Mrs. Baker took a seat and motioned for me to do the same. “This is our more formal dining room. Many of the doctors and administrators eat here, as well as visiting pastors and other guests. There’s also a large cafeteria on the Union side where most of the employees dine. I prefer it here. Much more quiet.”

  She ordered two coffees for us and I studied her as she began telling me all about the hospital. She was actually very pretty, with a head full of thick white hair, obviously teased into the “do” common to women her age. I’d guessed she was somewhere in the neighborhood of 60 or so. Not exactly lean, but not plump either. Friendly gray-blue eyes with a slight hint of mystery, but overtly authoritarian. No question there.

  Suddenly I realized she was no longer talking about the hospital but about her latest golfing trip to Florida. “When spring comes, I try to take off early a couple days a week to work on my game. Do you play, Shelby?”

  “Me? Oh, no, ma’am. I’ve never played. My brother’s pretty good. He and Dad play a lot, but I never learned to play.”

  “That’s a shame. I’ve tried to interest some of the other girls in learning, but so far I’ve had no takers. Such a wonderful game.”

  I realized her eyes were lit up like a Macy’s Christmas tree. She continued telling me about some of her better shots, which of the doctors at the hospital belonged to her country club, and the locations of her favorite courses around the country.

  Note to self: sign up for golf lessons.

  Half an hour later, she signed the tab and we headed back to the office. So much for my introduction to Baptist Hospital.

  As we rounded the final corner to the office, she said, “Be sure to be at orientation by 1:00 sharp. I’ll have Pamela take you to the conference room . . . well, speak of the devil.”

  Tucked in a dark hall corner closest to the office, the good doctor and his stunning fiancée were sharing a rather tender moment just as we passed.

  “Dr. Warrick, I’ll thank you to part lips with Miss Smythe and let her get back to work. Time’s a wasting, you two.”

  I felt like a pimple-faced school girl in tow behind the principal watching the cool kids make out. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time I felt that way.

  Pamela caught up to me as I entered the back office. “Ready to rock and roll? Oh! I almost forgot.” She jumped into the back room where half a dozen other hostesses still lingered. “Did you all hear Elvis checked out this morning?”

  “About time!” the feisty Puerto Rican chimed in. “He’s been here almost two weeks this time. Think he’s dried out yet?”

  “Sandra, bite your lip!” Pamela scolded with a laugh. “You know Elvis doesn’t drink.”

  “Who said anything about booze?”

  A tiny wisp of a thing, Sandra was no more than 5’2” with a head full of black curls, a perfect olive complexion, and a ready smile. I could tell immediately Sandra held nothing back and liked to have a good time. I had a feeling we’d get along great. Especially if I remembered to pronounce her name correctly—Sandra, as in “Sahndra” not Sandra as in Sandra Dee.

  “Sandra, let it go,” Mrs. Baker warned from the outer office. “You represent this hospital, so watch your tongue, young lady.”

  Sandr
a made a face which our boss couldn’t see, but I kind of loved her for it. No offense to Mrs. Baker, but I wasn’t a big Elvis fan, as you know. I chuckled quietly. Sandra smiled as if we were co-conspirators.

  “Miss Garcia, why aren’t you on your floor yet?”

  “Oh, I’ve already been up there. I ran out of my cards. I was just leaving.” She made another wild expression then headed out the door. “¡Adios, amigas!”

  “That reminds me, Shelby,” Mrs. Baker continued from the outer office. “I’ve ordered your cards and your name tag. They should be ready in the next couple of days, and I’ll call Casual Corner this afternoon and order your uniforms.”

  “Great,” I answered. I’d noticed the gold name tags pinned to the other girls’ jacket lapels, but hadn’t noticed the small handful of business cards the girls kept tucked onto their clipboards.

  “We give these along with our brochures to each of the new patients.” Pamela showed me her card with her name and the office extension below the title, Hostess, and handed me one of the small brochures. More like a pamphlet actually. It had a picture of the front of the hospital on the cover with the words “At Your Service” across the bottom. “That’s how they contact us. They put a call into the office, then Mrs. B. or whoever’s here calls it in to paging. You’ll get used to hearing your name all the time. ‘Miss Colter, Miss Shelby Colter,’” she mimicked, “then you just pick up the nearest phone, call paging, and they give you the message.”

  “Do you get a lot of pages?”

  She laughed out loud. “Oh, girlfriend, you have no idea. You’ll start hearing them in your sleep. Well, let’s do this. You ready?”

  “Sure,” I lied, following her out the door.

  As we rode the elevator up to the Ninth floor on the Madison wing, Pamela asked, “So have you ever met him?”

  “Who him?”

  “Elvis! You know, we all go a little crazy when he’s here. I’ve met him several times. Mostly at social events I’ve attended with Franklin. Franklin and Dr. Nick are good friends.”