I shook my head, still taking in the differing Elvis hair-styles. From pompadour wigs to greased-back black dyed hair.
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Heather Webber
I held up Jean-Claude’s picture. “Do you know him?”
She frowned, pulling in her bottom lip. I couldn’t help but notice her breasts spilling out of the skimpy top. She’d have had no problem getting into Bump.
“He looks familiar,” she said over the karaoke crooning of
“Blue Moon.” “Maybe ask Jake?”
“Jake?”
She pointed to a thirty-something man tending one of the three bars in the place. He too was wearing an Elvis costume.
I thanked her and started across the room. “Blue Moon”
ended and someone took up the mic and started in on “Blue Suede Shoes.” Sure enough, I looked down and saw that my Keds were the only white shoes in the vicinity.
I felt my phone vibrate on my hip. I flipped it open, saw Ana’s name.
“Where are you?” she said.
I covered one ear with my hand, shouted, “At All Shook Up.”
“Be right there!”
I slipped my phone back onto my waistband.
“Hey, baby.” Elvis’s hand snaked around my waist, pulling me up close and personal with his chest hair.
“Hi,” I said, trying to wiggle free.
“Now now. Let’s dance.” The opening lines of “All Shook Up” played and the room went wild. I was definitely in the Twilight Zone.
“Really, I—”
Before I could get away, Hairy Chest had me spinning and swirling to the music. Every so often I’d look up to find him smiling at me, one corner of his mouth lifted in a classic Elvis grin.
I clutched his white jumpsuit with my left hand to keep from falling, and kept Jean-Claude’s picture tight in my right
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hand, which was being held captive by Hairy Chest. My backpack thumped my back.
As he twirled me, I said sarcastically, “Come here often?”
He either missed the sarcasm or ignored it. “Every Saturday. You’re new, though. We’ve got to work on your outfit.
I’m thinking Joan Blackman in
Brunette. Right. I’d forgotten about the wig.
“Um, maybe.”
The song came to a hip-jarring end. “Want a drink?”
Hairy Chest asked.
More than anything. But I only had two dollars.
“My treat,” he said, winking. He had pretty blue eyes, and I assumed he knew it—which was why he didn’t wear those big aviator glasses like every other Elvis in the room.
“Sure.” I figured he owed it to me, grabbing me like that.
Though if I were really honest, I’d have to admit I’d had fun dancing. It had been a long time.
He followed me to the bar, where there were two open stools. Hairy Chest held out his hand. “Alan,” he said.
“Not Elvis?”
He shrugged. He was kind of cute, and I wondered where Ana was. Maybe I could match-make while I was at this whole Jean-Claude recon thing.
Which reminded me. “Are you Jake?” I asked the bartender, just to make sure.
He winked at me, Elvis-style. I was starting to feel claustrophobic. “That’s me, darlin’,” he said. “Can I help you?”
After Alan and I ordered a drink, I showed him Jean-Claude’s picture. “Do you know him?”
Someone started singing “Love Me Tender.” Off key. I winced, wishing I’d brought ear plugs.
“Sure. That’s JC. Comes in all the time.”
“Really?”
