Jessie's Girl

by Amanda Ashley

  “Yes.” He stood and moved across the room to take her in his arms. “It’s getting late. I’d best be going.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tight. It was getting more and more difficult to say goodbye each night. Sometimes it took hours. She had never spent much time necking when she was a teenager, but she was making up for it now. Time seemed to lose all meaning when she was in his arms. His kisses were more addicting than drugs. The sound of his voice, whispering that he adored her, loved her, needed her, was like music to her ears. He wooed her with flowers and candy, with soft, sensual kisses, with words that painted erotic images in her mind. And yet he never crossed the line she had set, never demanded more than she was willing to give, and that in itself was a powerful lure.

  She wanted him, wanted to wrap herself in his kisses, drown herself in the depths of his eyes, inhale his every breath, spend the rest of her life in his arms.

  “Kathy, darlin’!”

  He held her tight, tighter, his eyes glowing with love and desire as he gazed into her face, and she had the feeling, as she did so often, that he had read her thoughts, knew her mind and her heart better than she did.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  His hands stroked her back, lightly, intimately, sending shivers down her spine. His voice, low and sweet, whispered in her ear.

  “There are ways to feel love, to touch and taste love. I feel her with my soul.

  I have tasted her kiss with a simple breath filling me, moving across my heart. She touches so lightly, sending waves of pleasure that pulse through my core.

  She lifts my pain with her gentle laugh. A simple hello and my eyes fill with her sparkle. There are ways to feel love – sharing a fear, holding a thought, flowing in the softest silence where only the soul hears. Always with me is she. Thank you, darlin’, for loving me....”

  “Oh, Jesse,” she murmured. “That was beautiful.”

  He smiled down at her. “You really think so?”

  “Yes. Where did you find it?”

  “I wrote it last night, for you.”

  “Oh.”

  “You really like it?”

  “I love it.”

  “Vince is setting it to music for me. I’ll sing it for you tomorrow night.”

  “I don’t know what to say. No one’s ever written me a song before.”

  He kissed the top of her head, pleased beyond words by the sincerity of her gratitude, by the joy in her eyes. And then he felt it, the subtle hint of dawn’s first light.

  He held her close a moment longer, then kissed her, hard and deep. “I’ve got to go get some sleep, darlin’.”

  “All right. Sweet dreams, Jessie. I love you.”

  “Sweet dreams, darlin’.”

  He kissed her again, and then he was gone.

  Alone, Kathy looked at the window again, a shiver of unease moving down her spine. She shook it off, telling herself that she was being silly, that there was a perfectly logical explanation for why she hadn’t seen his reflection in the glass.

  Why she never saw him during the day.

  Why she never saw him eat or drink anything.

  “Oh, good grief,” she exclaimed. “That’s the last time you watch a vampire movie before you go to sleep.”

  Laughing softly, she went into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

  Chapter 8

  She loved him.

  The words repeated themselves in Jessie’s mind as he waited for the death-like sleep that came to him each night.

  She loved him.

  His hand stroked the black silk sheet beneath him. The material was soft and cool, like her skin.

  Staring up at the ceiling, he thought of the song he had written for her. He had never written much poetry in the past, but something about Kathy awakened the romantic in him, made him want to write sonnets to her beauty.

  Rising, he padded into the living room and sat down at the desk in the corner. Withdrawing a sheet of paper from the desk, he began to pour out his thoughts.

  Feel the air and know

  it’s my soul that wraps your sighs;

  Taste the rain and feel

  my kiss so deep inside.

  Run with the sun.

  Its light is my skin…

  warm against yours

  Smile when you walk;

  I am the path that

  will carry you to safety.

  Tears that burn an empty

  heart

  I will sweeten with

  one word.

  Watch as it flows down your cheeks

  and tastes your lips

  Move with time.

  I am the sound of the air

  swirling around your thoughts.

  Fear runs from my glance.

  Rest on the softest bed of

  flowers;

  I am the fragrance

  that filters into your soul.

  Feel the air and know…

  the beat of my heart

  resounds with your smile.

  He grunted with wry amusement as he put the pen aside, wondering what his fans would think if they knew the truth, wondering what Kathy would think.

  Would people rise up against him, hunt him down, drive a stake into his heart and fill his mouth with garlic, as vampire hunters had done in days of old? Or would they merely shake their heads in disbelief and proclaim him mad?

  Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes, remembering how it had all come about…

  * * * * *

  His body had failed him. Only his voice stayed the same. Even though his fans sometimes looked at him with pity, he could still mesmerize them with his voice. His voice…it had made him rich, famous beyond his wildest dreams.

  He had been drowning in despair the night he left Graceland. Carefully disguised, he had sought escape from the house, from the bodyguards, the constant attention.

  He had slipped into a small bar, taken a seat in a booth in the back, ordered a beer. He needed a change in his life.

  No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a woman slipped into the booth across from him. She was beautiful, more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen. Her skin was flawless, translucent. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulders in thick waves. And her eyes…they were the greenest green he had ever seen.

  “ What can I do for ya, honey?” Assuming she had recognized him, he expected her to ask for his autograph.

  “ I’m here to do something for you.” Her voice was soft and low, with an accent he didn’t recognize.

  He laughed softly. “What can you do for me?”

  “I can change your life.”

  In spite of the heat of the evening, he shivered at her words. “What do you mean?”

  “You want a change. You’re tired of your life, the way you look. You’re afraid of getting old, of dying.”

  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he said curtly, but, deep inside, he felt the cold hand of fear. “What are you?” he said, forcing a laugh, “a mind reader?”

  “In a way.” She leaned toward him and smiled. Her teeth were perfect, and very white. “I can give you everything you desire.”

  He laughed again. She was nothing but a hooker.

  “No,” she said, sounding annoyed. “I am not a hooker. Or a gypsy. Or a mind reader.” She stood up and offered him her hand. “Come with me, and I’ll show you what I am.”

  Like a robot, he stood up and put his hand in hers, and she led him out of the bar, down the street, and into a small motel room.

  Inside, she closed and locked the door.

  He took a deep breath, fighting the fear that threatened to swamp him. Why had he come here?

  She sat on the edge of the bed and patted the mattress beside her. “Come, join me,” she invited, and laughed softly.

  Again, without knowing why, he did as she asked.

  “I’ve always been a fan of yours,” she said quie
tly. “I was there when you first began, and I knew that you would stun the world with your talent.”

  “How could you have been there when I began?” he asked. “You can’t be more than twenty-five.”

  She threw back her head and laughed, the sound soft and sexy. “Oh, I’m much older than that,” she said, “but we were talking about you. I saw how the women reacted to you. You drove them wild. I watched the way you played with the audience, teasing them with a look, a smile, a twitch of your hips, and I knew there would be no stopping you. And I was right.”

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “Just a fan.” Lifting one hand, she brushed a lock of unruly hair from his brow. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  He started to stand up, the fear twisting through him. She put her hand on his shoulder and held him in place, with just one hand.

  “I’m here to help you, not hurt you,” she said. “I’m going to give you a chance to start over.”

  He looked down at his bloated body and laughed bitterly. “That’s impossible.”

  “For me, nothing is impossible. Only tell me it’s what you want.”

  “To be young again?” he asked. “Who wouldn’t want it?”

  “Then look into my eyes.” Her voice was lower now, almost a growl.

  And he had looked into her deep green eyes and seen the abyss of eternity there….

  * * * * *

  He felt a familiar tingle slide down his spine and knew the rising of the sun was only a few minutes away.

  Going into his bedroom, he closed and double-locked the door, then settled into the big king-sized bed. No one was allowed in this room; he had never shared this bed with anyone, but as his eyelids closed, he imagined Kathy was there, beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. As the sky turned light, he imagined that he heard her voice whispering that she loved him as the darkness that was inside him dragged him down, down, into eternity…

  Chapter 9

  It was a sold-out crowd again. Jessie stood in the wings, listening to the orchestra play his introduction, remembering the early years, remembering the day he had cut his first record. He recalled Sam Phillips saying, If you aren’t doing something different, you aren’t doing anything. They had been working on recording, I Love You Because, and during a break, Jessie had grabbed his guitar and starting singing, That’s All Right, Mama. Scotty Moore and Bill Black had joined in and that, as they say, was that. He remembered cutting records for RCA, coming in late so they could have some privacy, sending out for burgers at midnight. Those had been good times, fun times. In the beginning, it had all seemed like a dream come true – making records – he’d had four Number One hits in 1956.

  Perhaps the biggest coup of all was appearing on the Ed Sullivan show. Sullivan had once said that Elvis was unfit for family viewing, but somewhere along the way he had changed his mind. It had been a hell of a night, performing on television before fifty-four million viewers, with girls in the audience screaming and swooning.

  His performance had caused a public outcry. He had been hanged in effigy in Nashville and burned in absentia in St. Louis. The Reverend Billy Graham had declared he wouldn’t want his children watching such a display. He had been banned in Florida.

  But he’d had the last laugh. By the end of 1956, there were seventy-eight Elvis Presley products on the market; he had grossed close to two million dollars in his first two years. He’d had a Jeep, a dune buggy, three motorcycles, three jets, two Cadillacs, including a limo, a Rolls Royce, a Lincoln Continental, and two station wagons. He had loved cars, and he had loved giving them away to his friends.

  Of course, being famous had its down side, too. By the end of the year, he was too well-known to go out in public, so he’d rented skating rinks and movie theaters and amusement parks and filled them with his friends.

  Those had been good times. Pulling down over five million dollars a year. Damn. During the sixties, he had been the highest paid entertainer in the world. They had paid him a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars for a single guest appearance on a Frank Sinatra special. He sold more than five hundred million records, made thirty-three films. King Creole had always been his favorite.

  And then things had started to go bad. Somewhere along the way, the magic had died. The hits stopped coming. Priscilla divorced him. He started gaining weight. Surrounded by people, he had never felt more alone.

  Sometimes, looking at old pictures, it was hard to believe any of it had been real.

  It had been worse after his “death”. People claimed to “see” him everywhere. He had laughed at some of the headlines he had read in papers like the Enquirer –

  THE GHOST OF ELVIS IS HAUNTING MY HOUSE,

  SAYS EX-GIRLFRIEND

  FIVE HUNDRED YEAR OLD STATUE OF THE KING

  FOUND IN PERU

  I BROUGHT ELVIS BACK TO LIFE

  ELVIS BODY SNATCH PLOT

  That would have been some trick, he mused, when there was no body…

  Taking a deep breath, he stepped out on stage. It felt good to perform before a live audience again, to hear the applause of the crowd, feel the adoration of the women, the envy of the men. To be able to sing at his best, look his best. He had never felt better, looked better. And yet, in spite of everything, he had been more lonely than ever these past thirty-four years. He had thought the price for eternal life would be eternal darkness, and he had been prepared for that. What he had not expected was the loneliness, the awful sense of being separate from the rest of humanity. It should have been an easy price to pay. His celebrity had always set him apart from the rest of the world. He’d been unable to take a walk on a busy street, go to a movie, or walk into a store without being mobbed by fans. He should have been used to it, but he wasn’t and somehow, this was far worse.

  His gaze darted toward the front table. Ah, she was there. Pure and perfect, her brown eyes shining as she smiled up at him. He could smell her perfume, hear the blood flowing warm and sweet in her veins, the way her heartbeat increased when their gazes met. Desire stirred deep within him, and with it the overpowering urge to taste her sweetness. She was the first truly honest woman he had ever known, perhaps the only one he had ever met who loved him for himself. He had showered her with gifts, pleased to find she was as happy with a single red rose bought on a street corner as she was with diamonds. Kathy. He had been lonely all his life until he met her.

  Soon, he thought, soon she would be his.

  * * * * *

  Kathy’s heart swelled within her when Jessie looked at her. She had never believed it was possible to fall in love so hard, so fast, but she had. At first, she had been hesitant to trust her feelings, afraid that what she felt wasn’t love at all but a bad case of idol worship because Jessie looked so much like Elvis. But as the days and weeks went by, as she grew to know him better, she stopped seeing him as an Elvis look-a-like and saw him for the man he was – warm and generous, kind and caring, unfailingly romantic.

  Tomorrow, she thought, her excitement growing. Tomorrow she would surprise him.

  Chapter 10

  Kathy knocked on the door of Jessie’s hotel room, waited a moment, then knocked again. It was still early. Surely he hadn’t gone out already? She pressed her ear to the door, but couldn’t hear anything. With a sigh, she knocked a third time. He had told her he slept late, that because of his late nights, he rarely went out during the day, but she was determined that they would spend one afternoon together. She had asked the hotel to pack them a picnic lunch. She had expected a couple of sandwiches and some potato chips, but when she peeked inside the basket, she saw two enormous ham and cheese sandwiches with all the trimmings, a roast chicken, potato salad, pickles, and a bottle of champagne. And two huge slices of dark chocolate fudge cake for dessert.

  Fearing it was a waste of time, she knocked on the door one more time; then, swallowing her disappointment, she left the hotel. She’d been wanting to see Hoover Dam and she was going to see it. She might no
t have anyone to keep her company, but she was going to have a terrific lunch.

  * * * * *

  Jessie slid a glance at Kathy. She was sitting on the other end of the sofa, her feet curled beneath her, a pensive look on her face. She had been strangely quiet this evening.

  “What is it, darlin’?” he asked. “What’s troubling you?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not important.”

  “Of course it is.” He slid his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  “I came by your room this afternoon.”

  He went suddenly still. “You did?”

  She nodded. “I wanted to surprise you. I had the hotel pack us a lunch. I was going to kidnap you and take you on a picnic.”

  “To Hoover Dam,” he murmured.

  “Yes. But you weren’t in your room.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Where were you?”

  A dozen lies chased themselves around his mind, but he discarded them all. He couldn’t lie to her, not to Kathy, not when she was looking at him like that, as if she was just waiting for him to break her heart. “I was asleep.”