Cat in a Jeweled Jumpsuit

And these were not amateur fans; these were professional fans with a personal stake in other Elvis impersonators. Their presence here was flagrantly disloyal.

But they didn't care. The entire object of the Elvis imitation exercise was to evoke the presence of the King, and this man evidently had.

Not only did his rehearsal hall performance and its rapt reception skew the very idea of a competition, it made every other Elvis impersonator into excess baggage. Who could hope to compete with this triumphal performance? Maybe not even the real Elvis.

“Having trouble, Miss Temple?”

She turned, looked up, smiled to see Oversized Elvis looming behind her. "I'd like to get into the dressing room to see that incredible Elvis impersonator," she told him, "but everybody else seems to have the same idea."

“No problem." Aldo turned and whistled sharply once, as if hailing a cab.

In a couple of minutes eight tall Elvi converged on them both.

Then they made like the Memphis Mafia, surrounded her and wafted her through the mob, through even the narrow birth canal of the dressing room door, and into the room itself and the presence of the new King. She could get used to this.

Tuxedo Elvis handed her a tiny tape recorder.

“Miss Temple Barr," he announced to a man sitting before the mirror. "She is doing a feature for, ah, Vanity Fair. The hotel would appreciate your cooperation.”

The brothers Fontana ebbed back to the door, serving as a phalanx to keep out the rest.

Temple felt a stab of guilt about standing between a man and his true believers, but she squashed it like a bug. She had finally become utterly fascinated by the Elvis legend then and now. She also still wondered why an Elvis apparition had visited the Crystal Phoenix excavation, and why a man seeming to be Elvis was calling Matt on the radio. Something was going on, and it was more than it seemed to be. She couldn't resist a mystery, and Elvis was a double mystery. There was the man himself, and there was how someone could be using him, or his persona.

The performer seemed exhausted now, as well he should. He was oddly passive, going along with whatever promised an island of calm in the frenzy his performance had created.

Right now, that was a phalanx of Elvis Fontana brothers guarding the door, and the fraudulent notion that a major national magazine reporter was asking for an interview. Actually, Temple was thinking, having a tape recorder meant she could maybe write an article about this phenomenon and sell it to Vanity Fair. Well, perhaps some more modest magazine. She didn't have the connections to sell to a major rag.

So by the time she asked her first question, Temple was actually feeling quite honest and justified. Amazing how easy it was to impersonate someone and, even more incredible, to be believable in that role.

“I know you're exhausted," Temple said. "Do you need anything? A glass of water? Something stronger? I can have one of the ersatz Elvises get it.”

He glanced to the door, and smiled wearily. "I've never seen a multiple Elvis act before, except for the Flying Elvises they concocted for that Honeymoon in Las Vegas film. No. I'm fine. Actually, I could use a quiet conversation to take me down." He lifted the white terry cloth towel hanging around his neck and patted at his sweaty face, as actors will who don't want to smear stage makeup.

A pro, Temple thought. What else? "Did you expect to make such a sensation here?"

“Not at the rehearsal."

“You're the 'King of Kings' Elvis, aren't you? The other impersonators were wondering why you weren't registered for the pageant, especially since you live in Las Vegas.”

He nodded. His eyes were dark blue. Temple tried to catch a glint of colored contact lens edges shifting on his eye whites. Of course, if they were soft contact lenses, they would be harder to spot.

“I . debated coming out for this. I'm basically retired. I've had my hour in the sun."

“Ken ... is that your name?”

Another weary smile. "Fleeting fame strikes again. My name is Lyle. Lyle Purvis. I'm from Alabama originally, ma'am. I don't know where anybody got the idea my name was Ken. Guess Lyle's a different name. Par- ents like different names for their kids, and then the kids spend the rest of their lives living it down. That's what first made me feel for Elvis. That was even worse than Lyle. At least there was this actor, Lyle Talbot. There wasn't no Elvis Talbot, that's for sure. Now, of course, there's Lyle Lovett, the country singer."

“I know what you mean about names. Temple?" "It's real fine for you."

“Thanks. So is that what impersonation is all about, feeling for the person you're evoking?”

He thought, dabbed sweat, drank from a half-empty bottled water container. "Maybe so, yes. Most of us started as Elvis fans, plain and simple. And, for me, it helps to have a Southern soul to understand Elvis."

“When did you become an Elvis fan?"

“Well, now, ma'am, are you tryin' to find out my age in a nice way here?"