Who says lightning doesn’t strike the same spot twice?
What began as a seemingly-ordinary day of household renovations took a turn with a phone call that resulted in VampireLover’s second upcloseandpersonal encounter with the King of Rock ‘n Roll.
Yes, you read that correctly: my love felt the lips of Elvis Presley – via his mortal instrument, Stephen Kabakos – upon her quivering fan-girl flesh as he wiped his sweaty chest with yet another scarf. To say she was elated would be a gross understatement.
But I’ve jumped the line, folks; we need to take few steps back, in fact, we need to journey up a set of cracked wooden steps to a work-in-progress we refer to as our attic.
After years of pleading, nudging and finally, nagging, from the wife, I donned a makeshift Hazmat suit and began to remove layer upon layer of improperly laid insulation.
“You’ve been working hard,” my angel declared as she watched the sweat drip from my pasty, Caucasian forehead, “I think I need to feed you.”
I’m an uncomplicated creature, boys and girls; the way to this man’s heart really is through the stomach.
And so we headed out, strapped on the proverbial feedbag, ran an errand or two and arrived home to a seriously ticked off canine – Chelsea isn’t a big fan of car rides that don’t involve her – and a message on the machine that sent VampireLover into a frenzy.
“Call Rick! Call Rick! Call Rick!”
Rick, for the uninitiated, is one of my fellow bellmen. Two of his American friends visit the hotel and the nearby gambling hall, occasionally and as a result, they often score extra tickets for shows.
See the bridge between VampireLover’s Elvis lip lock and a day of household chores?
Rick’s friends not only rescued me from manual labor, at 3 p.m. that day, they put the wife in seat 7, row 10, of the Avalon Ballroom, a location from which she launched Operation: Elvis Smooch, Part Two.
The show began with the same pizazz and raw Presley power as Sunday’s.
However, there were a few glitches that actually proved entertaining.
The King made a lyric substitution that resulted in a series of perplexed looks from audience members and one male back-up singer. To his credit, Elvis gave the audience one of those “What?” looks, followed by a lyrical “I better get back on track!” line that elicited a raucous chorus of laughter.
How a performer handles a flubbed verse is as important as any other facet of the act and the King never disappoints. And so the show went on, filled with the undeniable power of rock ‘n roll, until Suspicious Minds began.
At that point, my wife tensed up, moved to the edge of her seat and her mind began to formulate a plan….
And when a single back-up dancer emerged with a handful of scarves, that plan went into action. As it turned out, the King looked down from the stage and saw… nothing.
As it turns out, a theater full of geriatrics makes for slim pickings when it comes to audience participation. Fortunately for the King, my wife was more than willing to spring into action.
- She stared in disbelief at the void in front of the stage
- A single fan appeared to fill the void.
- Determined to be the second, VampireLover let out a chorus of “Excuse me!”, as she climbed over six people to reach the aisle and begin her race to glory, careful to rip away her bounty, namely, the scarf she scored the last time, from her quivering neck.
- Taking her place as second in line, she finally stood before Elvis, who not only awarded her a second moist scarf and a sacred smooch, he even grabbed the scarf and pulled her back for a second kiss!
- Fighting to contain her joy – and failing miserably – my wife returned to me, her inner joy lighting up our small section of the ballroom.
The show wrapped up – in spectacular fashion – yesterday, but the wife’s glow has yet to subside. Once again, I’m not sure how I feel about watching my love smooch another man, but one thing is certain, anyone who can make her so happy really is the King in my book.
- Elvis Lives! (youvebeenhooked.wordpress.com)