‘You know,’ Gladys says to Vernon as they drive down Poplar Avenue, ‘we can’t let this go to Elvis’s head.’
‘Aw, Glad. Let the boy have a little fun.’
‘We want him to get his electrician’s certificate, don’t we? All this could be kinda distracting.’
‘Our son is on the radio all night – he’s interviewed by Dewey Phillips – and all you can talk about is certificates?’ asks Vernon.
Gladys giggles. ‘I loved it when I heard his name. Elvis Presley. I couldn’t believe I was hearing those words.’
‘I know,’ says Vernon. Then he launches into his Dewey impression. ‘That was Elvis Presley with “That’s All Right, Mama”!’
‘Think he’ll be in the Scimitar?’
‘I don’t doubt it, gal.’
She checks the money in her change-purse. ‘What do you figure they’ll ask?’
‘How should I know?’
‘I guess they’ll wanna know about where he’s from, what he likes to do … Do you think they’ll ask about his folks?’
‘He can make all that up.’
‘Vernon!’
‘That’s what the movie stars do.’
Gladys giggles again. ‘I’m still hearing Dewey say his name.’
‘Elvis Presley!’ Vernon hoots.
She doesn’t mention it, but hearing Elvis’s name on the radio had actually felt exposing – dangerous, even; to Gladys’s mind, hearing your full name in public usually means trouble. The last time Vernon’s full name was uttered out loud before an audience was, after all, when he was sentenced at the Lee County courthouse.
As she walks to the store, leaving Vernon in the cafeteria down the street, a thick wave of July heat rises from the sidewalk, making Gladys feel as though her body is seeping into her clothes. Her dress goes limp, flapping against her thighs, and she becomes aware of her own odour. But none of it matters, because soon she will be in the air-conditioned Piggly Wiggly, and she might even hear her son’s voice coming over the tannoy.
Of course, Mrs King isn’t in the store. Gladys doesn’t bother with a cart. She takes the aisles slowly, her ears keenly aware that the radio is in fact playing Perry Como’s latest. When she reaches the refrigerator, she stands before it, basking in the cool air coming from the metal shelves as she decides which margarine to buy. She’d like butter, but it’s so much more expensive. She wonders if they will have more money soon. Elvis has said that, if he sells records, there could be more coming to them. Vernon says he’s never met a guitar player worth a damn, and that guitars never mean cash, only liquor and loneliness. He says that’s why most country songs are sad songs. But Elvis’s song isn’t sad. As she listened to it last night, she understood that it was a song full of energy and youth and hope, and she noticed something in it that she hadn’t heard in her son’s voice before then, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but standing here in the cool air it comes to her: her son’s song sounded like money.
She chooses the Oleo and goes to the cash register. The girl doesn’t look at Gladys as she states the amount owed. Gladys has the change ready, but she hesitates, because the Perry Como song has finished now.
The girl repeats the amount and Gladys almost holds up a hand to shush her, but then realises that the next song is also not her son’s. Snatching up her goods, she leaves the money on the counter and hurries through the doors.
She tells Vernon that it’s too hot to be downtown and she wants to go home directly. Recognising her mood, he complies without comment.
When they reach their apartment, Gladys spots her sister Lillian waiting on the porch.
Since she moved to Memphis, Lillian has dropped by occasionally, but has been too busy with her own family to come regularly, which Gladys hasn’t much minded. Lillian has never been shy about letting Gladys know all the ways in which she is more knowledgeable, experienced and sensible than her little sister. And as they’ve grown, these ways seem to have become more numerous.
Gladys almost tells Vernon to turn the car around, but then Lillian waves, and she has no choice but to wave back.
‘I guess y’all have been out celebrating!’ Lillian calls.
Beneath the midday sun, Gladys walks slowly towards her sister.
‘Guess y’all are too grand to stay home, now!’ Lillian continues.
Gladys leans in to kiss Lillian’s cheek, and she notices something nervous in her sister’s expression, as if she is expecting Gladys to make some sudden, unexpected move.
‘Come on in,’ says Vernon, holding the door open.
‘Ain’t seen you in a while,’ says Gladys, when they reach the apartment.
Lillian plops herself in the easy chair and kicks off her shoes. ‘You know how it is,’ she says. ‘There’s always something.’
‘Let me fix you gals a cool drink,’ says Vernon, disappearing into the kitchen. The only time Vernon makes refreshments is when Gladys has a female visitor.
Gladys sits on the couch and mops her brow with a handkerchief. ‘If it gets any hotter my feet will just explode!’
‘How you been, Glad?’ asks Lillian.
‘Oh, you know,’ says Gladys. ‘We’re getting along. How are you all?’
‘Charlie ain’t been so good,’ says Lillian. ‘Heart trouble. He can’t work, as a matter of fact.’
‘I’m right sorry to hear that.’
‘Billy’s working, but you know hard it can be to stretch one wage to a whole family.’
‘I sure do.’
‘But I didn’t come here to tell you my troubles!’ says Lillian, leaning forward. ‘You better tell me everything. We didn’t know Elvis had a record.’
Gladys allows herself a smile. ‘Well, I hardly knew myself—’
‘And then Bobbie comes running in from Lord-knows-where last night and says to turn on the radio ’cause her cousin’s on it! Charlie told her not to be so darned foolish, but when we tuned in, there he was! We couldn’t credit it! How come you kept all this a secret from your family, Gladys?’
‘Like I said, I didn’t know myself.’
‘But Elvis tells you everything, don’t he?’
Ignoring this barb, Gladys says, ‘Elvis didn’t realise, till yesterday, that Mr Phillips – that’s the man who owns Sun Records – was going to take the song to the radio station. And then he didn’t want anybody else to know, in case Dewey didn’t play it, or folks didn’t like it.’
‘But he did play it!’
Gladys nods. ‘He played it fifteen times. Fifteen!’
Lillian stares at her sister. ‘What he do that for?’
‘Folks was calling the station, asking for it. Didn’t you hear Elvis being interviewed?’
‘I turned in early.’
‘Dewey asked Elvis all kinds of questions. Poor Elvie, he was so jumpy! Not that it showed, of course, but I could tell. We was up all night, we was that excited! Isn’t it just the most wonderful – the most astonishing – thing you ever heard?’
Vernon comes in with the iced tea and a plate of crackers. He sets the glasses on the coffee table, then stands back and beams.
‘Glad telling you all about our boy’s success, Lillian? Ain’t it something?’
Lillian casts a look around the room, then, glancing down at her hands, says, ‘Bobbie told me some folks thought maybe Elvis was a negro.’
Vernon, still standing, folds his arms. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Well, I guess it was the way he sang the song.’
‘Who thought Elvis was a negro?’ asks Gladys.
‘I don’t know! But Bobbie said Dewey made a point of asking Elvis which school he was at, so folks would know he was white.’
‘But it’s obvious he’s white!’ Gladys says, her voice rising.
‘Obvious to us, maybe,’ says Lillian, dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief. ‘But that Dewey Phillips, he plays mostly race records, don’t he?’
Sitting on the arm of the easy cha
ir, Vernon places a hand on Gladys’s shoulder. ‘Well, what does it matter?’ he asks. ‘Elvis was on the radio.’
Lillian helps herself to a glass of iced tea and takes a long drink. ‘Oh, it don’t matter none, I guess.’ She nibbles on a cracker, then adds, ‘Good to get it straight, though. A mix-up like that could lead to all kinds of trouble.’
Vernon raises his voice. ‘Elvis was on the radio, and people all over Memphis liked what they heard. That’s what counts.’
‘That’s right,’ says Gladys, reaching for her husband’s hand.
Lillian slaps Vernon’s knee. ‘Now don’t go getting ornery on your sister-in-law, Vernon Presley!’
‘Vernon’s just proud of his son,’ says Gladys.
‘We all are!’ says Lillian. ‘And it sure is good to see you two again. This family ain’t been together nearly enough, lately. I want y’all to come visit just as soon as you can.’
They drink their tea, and smile.
After Lillian has left, Gladys and Vernon share a couple of beers.
‘We gotta watch her,’ says Vernon. ‘And all the others, too. I mean, it’s nice to share good fortune and all. But we oughta be careful.’
Gladys laughs it off, telling her husband not to be so suspicious. But it takes a few more beers to settle her nerves.
Graceland, 24 March 1958
When Elvis returns from a night at the Rollerdrome with his friends, Gladys is waiting for him.
It is four a.m. He must report to the Memphis draft board for induction into the army at seven. Gladys has been awake all night, listening for the sound of his car coming up the driveway. Around three she gave up trying to sleep in her bed and decided to wait it out on the huge white couch, custom-built and not long installed in the living room. Although she thinks the couch ludicrous, she likes this room. The ivory drapes and the blue of the walls were her choices; she finds them restful. The colour of the walls makes her think of a bird’s egg, although Mr Golden, who helped them with the decor, called it Dresden blue.
Now Elvis stands in the doorway, looking at her from under his brow, a hopeful smile playing around his mouth. The others, seeing her there, stop their babbling and shuffle downstairs to the den. She hears Cliff say, ‘Army’s gonna be a breeze compared to facing your mama, boy,’ and one of the girls giggling in response.
Elvis sniffs and composes his face. ‘Mama.’
‘Elvis.’
She glances at the clock.
He takes the opportunity to stretch out on the couch beside her, placing his head heavily in her lap and closing his eyes. He smells strongly of cigarettes and perfume. Whether it’s Anita’s or his own, Gladys cannot tell.
‘Mama, can you do something for me?’
She doesn’t answer.
‘Can you keep your eye on Anita? Truth is, I ain’t sure how much I can trust that girl.’
‘Any fool can see she’s devoted to you.’
He frowns. ‘But how do I know she really loves me?’
He’s asked this question before, of other girls. Usually Gladys would provide him with comforting words, saying that of course the girl can see the real him, and loves him not for his money and his fame but for his own self. But she’s no longer sure if this is true. Anita wants a career in entertainment, and does a good job of almost outshining her son whenever they are seen in public. So Gladys says, ‘Well, why don’t you just ask her?’
He sighs. ‘I’m dog tired.’
‘You oughta’ve gone to your own bed instead of out on the town.’
‘Mama,’ he murmurs, ‘it’s my last night in Memphis.’
‘Looks like morning time to me, son.’
He covers his eyes with one hand, as if he might drop off to sleep, which prompts her to shove him from her lap. He yelps and laughs, but Gladys isn’t smiling.
‘Now you listen. I want you to go and eat good,’ she says. ‘Then wash up and get yourself ready for the US Army. As if this thing ain’t bad enough without you showing up at the draft station looking like some alley cat just dragged itself in off Beale.’
‘I was at the Rollerdrome!’
‘But where was you after that?’
He throws himself back on the cushions and lets out a great huff of indignation.
She stands. ‘If I were you, I’d worry less about Anita loving you and more about how you’re gonna make it through today,’ she says, wrapping her housecoat tightly around her. ‘I’m gonna go fix you some breakfast.’
‘Daisy can do it,’ he mumbles. ‘You oughta take the weight off—’
‘Not this morning,’ she warns, turning for the door. ‘This morning I am fixing you breakfast.’
She’s sitting on her bed in her underclothes, staring blindly at the new pink dress laid out beside her, when Vernon comes in.
‘Glad. I sure hate to rush you, but we gotta leave soon.’
Her husband looks fresh and well ironed. He always enjoys having his picture taken for the papers; being before the camera seems to increase his brightness, as if a switch has been flicked and his lights have come on. It’s the same with Elvis. Vernon’s suit is new, a sombre shade of grey, and his shoes squeak as he crosses the room to sit beside her.
‘I can’t wear this one,’ she says, pushing the dress away.
‘But you bought it specially.’
‘It don’t feel right. It looks like a wedding outfit, when this here’s more like a damn funeral.’
‘Don’t start with the dismals, Glad.’
‘Why did I go and yell at him this morning, of all mornings?’
‘You was upset. We all are.’
‘Just fetch me the blue one, will you?’
Vernon goes to the closet and rakes through the dresses, holding them up for her ‘yes’ or ‘no’, tossing the unwanted ones on the carpet as he goes. She doesn’t have the energy to tell him to pick them up.
He holds up a dark blue one with a slash of cream silk at the chest.
‘That’s it.’
‘Put it on, then,’ he says, softly. He checks his watch. ‘Lord! It’s past six already.’
She snatches the dress away. ‘I’m losing my son today, and all you can think of is the time!’
‘You ain’t losing him, Glad. He’s going in the army, is all.’
‘He could be fighting in a war soon!’
‘Honey,’ says Vernon, looking into her face. ‘They won’t harm a hair on his precious head. Colonel will take care of that.’
‘Colonel?’ She almost spits. ‘If he could take care of anything at all, Elvis would never have got that draft letter!’
Vernon hangs his head. ‘You gotta get a hold of yourself. Boy’s gonna serve his country. Ain’t nothing we can do about it.’
‘I already lost one. I can’t lose another.’
He sits beside her and, to her surprise, takes her hands in his.
‘I lost him too,’ he says, quietly.
For a moment, she thinks about laying her head on his shoulder. But then she straightens her spine. ‘Give me a minute to get this thing on,’ she says, removing her hands from his and shaking out the dress with a crack.
Vernon stands and wipes his face. ‘Wear the diamond earrings,’ he instructs, before closing the door.
At the drafting office, Gladys tries to focus on following her son into the building without getting distracted by the crowds of reporters and fans on the sidewalk, but even inside there are camera bulbs flashing and people yelling his name. The Colonel seems to be herding them to and fro, chewing on his cigar and grinning like an alligator as he hands out balloons with the name of Elvis’s new movie, KING CREOLE, stamped on the side. Elvis somehow looks well scrubbed and rested, smiling and talking fast to anybody who asks him a question as if he’s had a solid ten hours in bed. Gladys knows he takes a little medication sometimes, when he’s on the road or working long hours in Hollywood. When she asked him about it, he told her all the stars take something to help them through, even Judy Garland, and th
at he would use the washbag she made him to keep his pills safe while he was gone. The studios arrange for doctors to prescribe medication especially, he said, which she’d thought very generous of them. But this morning, as Elvis signs papers and poses for picture after picture, Gladys notices his hand twitches even more than usual. The blue of his eyes has all but disappeared, replaced by the wide blackness of his pupils.
Vernon holds her arm tighter than is comfortable, keeping her as upright as him. They follow the crowd back into the cars and over to the Kennedy Veterans Hospital, where Elvis is stripped and weighed and measured and has all his fingers dipped in ink and rolled across a page as if he’s about to be taken to the state pen. The Colonel pats Gladys’s arm and whispers in her ear, ‘Your son is worth his weight in gold.’
More photos. More documents. Elvis eats an army sandwich, but Gladys can’t face any food at all. Then he holds up his right hand, managing to control the twitching for a minute, and says the words, I, Elvis Presley, do solemnly swear that I will have true faith and allegiance to the United States of America.
More photos, and suddenly everyone is leaving. She must say goodbye, now, and Elvis is there, right up close, still smiling although his eyes are all wrong, but she can’t smile back as he hugs and kisses her and whispers in her ear, ‘I’ll send for you and Daddy just as soon as I can.’
And as the reporters push closer to Gladys, calling her name now as her son boards the bus, she finds herself uncomfortably aware of how it would look if she were to smile and wave with the others when the newspapers have made such a great deal of her being a devoted Christian mother whose special bond with her boy has granted him the strength to become the star he is today. She wipes her cheek, and lets her mouth fall into a silent howl of dismay, just as though she were attending the funeral of her only son, and the flashbulbs blaze around her.
3: MANSION
THE ROAD: 1955
1955
When Elvis drives into the outskirts of Tupelo town with his mama beside him, a few heads turn to take a look at his car. Cutting his speed to allow people to appreciate the quality of the used Lincoln, he glances at his mama, half-expecting her to wave like the Queen of England.
Graceland Page 23
