Cat in a Jeweled Jumpsuit

“He was very protective of her."

“She was his bird in a gilded cage, and that chick was not gonna fly away on him."

“But she did," Temple said. "And a lot of people blame her defection for his decline and fall."

“Enough to kill even her image?" Tuxedo Elvis asked.

“That's what Elvis was all about, wasn't it? Image. In that kind of world, even a jumpsuit isn't too inanimate to hate.”

They nodded soberly.

Someone who would stage the killing of a costume was not operating with all hinges screwed in tight.

Chapter 25

Fame and Fortune

(The first song Elvis recorded after leaving the army in 1960)

"I can't do it," Matt said. "I can't play games with a sick man.”

He was staring at the front-page headline on the Las Vegas Scoop that lay across Temple's coffee table: IS IT ELVIS, OR IS IT EYEWASH? Matt had brought the tabloid journal here. It was more of an advert than a newspaper. Temple's coffee table wouldn't be caught dead upholding the sleazy daily that took Las Vegas's pulse at its most diseased. Other cities had their artsy "alternative" weeklies that covered the arts. Las Vegas had the Scoop (what she considered short for Pooper Scooper) whose motto could be: "All the dirt that's fit to sling.”

The subhead was even worse: "Talk Jock Shoots Breeze with the King." Then the story: Hot new after-hours air-head Matt Devine at WCOO-AM has held a couple post-midnight tête-à-têtes with the purported King of Rock 'n' Roll, worth mentioning only because said purported King is also purported to be dead.

Elvis, don't be cruel! Tell us if it's really you waxing melancholy at length—at Long Playing length, maybe; remember those good ole LP days?—in conversation with Mr. Midnight.

On the other hand, our spies (and we have countless spies everywhere, thank you, loyal readers) tell us that local radio's recent hero—he talked a homicidal new mama into sparing her infant until the cavalry could get there—was seen hobnobbing with the Elvis imitators in town for the Kingdome's gala opening next week.

Could our local hero be craving more publicity and making sure that he gets it with the collusion of an out-of-town Elvis? Makes you wonder. But then maybe that's what the radio shrink and WCOO-AM want: all of us wondering and tuning in.

How about opening the air waves to the skeptics, Mr. Midnight? Viewers should call the Midnight Hour with some hard questions for the show's most famous (and surely phony) guest. Think you're enough of an Elvis expert to stump the supposed King himself? Call WCOO-AM from midnight to 1 A.M. and put Mr. Midnight to the test. Maybe you'll be a local hero for putting a faux Elvis to rest.

They regarded the story silently, until Matt spoke again. "You're the media expert. What should I do now?"

“I bet this is Crawford Buchanan's work, even though the story doesn't have a byline. It's tawdry, cheap, and despicable ... but I think it's a good idea."

“Seeing that the so-called Elvis is kept off the air?" "No! Letting the listeners call in and try to stump him. Bet Leticia could kiss the guy who wrote this article, even if it is the Awful Crawf. It's great marketing." "That's just it! I don't think we have a right to 'market' a sick man."

“Maybe not, but maybe he's not so sick."

“How can you say that? I've heard genuine hurt in what that man says."

“Then help him. Help him understand himself; that could do him good, whoever he is. And maybe connecting him with his 'fans,' even indirectly, will help him more."

“Listen to yourself, Temple! 'His fans.' That's what I'm worried about, people being so crazy themselves wanting to have the King back that they'll buy any scheme or delusion.”

Temple shrugged. "That's the great American public at its best. They want to believe, even if they know deep down it's a snare and delusion. That's what all entertainment is about: erecting illusions, fulfilling wishful thinking. Build it and they will come. You know there's a whole world of Elvis worshippers out there hoping he isn't dead. Maybe he can live a little, love a little again, through your show."

“ 'Live a Little, Love a Little . . .' Even you, Temple, have sold out! This is insane. I can't counsel a dead man through a delusional go-between. This guy might be suicidal, and if the 'fans' call in grilling him, who knows what he might do?"

“Good point." Temple frowned down at the Las Vegas Scoop. "You should be the go-between for the fans. Don't let them call in directly, just relay their questions, or bring up the issue when you talk to him."

“He might not ever call again."

“I doubt it. The King performed up to the very end. That's the only thing that kept him going even as it destroyed him. He'll call again."

“I don't like it," Matt said.

Temple frowned again. Saleswomen at cosmetic counters cringed in agony if they caught her doing it, but it was one of her best expressions. Anyone who couldn't frown couldn't express uncertainty, and anyone who couldn't express uncertainty in this world was doomed to disappointment.