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“Hey, I’ve got twice as much material as you.” That’s probably because he lied twice as much—deceived two of us at the same time. “At least you don’t have to risk bombing your own material tonight.”
That’s it. I’m after Nick’s blood now. And I’m taking the Jeep when I get away with it.
“Just remember,” he continues, “triple pay, free hotel.”
I take in a deep so help me God breath. “Triple pay, free hotel. Triple pay, free hotel,” I say, simultaneously chanting in my mind—Nick’s gonna get it. Nick’s gonna get it.
“Are y’all the comedians?” a woman asks with a Tennessee twang. She reminds me of one of the Designing Women with a big, feathery ’80s do held together with copious amounts of hairspray. We nod. “Good. My name’s Millie and I’ll be gettin’ y’all ready. Now go on there and take a seat.” Nick and I gingerly make our way to the makeup chairs and Millie pats Leather Elvis on the shoulder. “You’re all set, baby. Have a good show.” The guy gives us a nod, dragging with him an obnoxious trail of cologne as he passes by.
I cover my crinkled nose. “Ugh, he smells like Rico Suave.”
“Close, honey. It’s Paco Rabanne,” Millie offers.
“That’s still legal?” I ask, spotting a set of long fake lashes on the counter. Those will definitely get smooshed behind my lenses.
“Yes, young lady. I got a whole case of it in the back.”
“Hey, Millie, does my costume look like that?” Nick asks.
She smirks, looking him up and down like she knows his type. “Oh, we’ve got somethin’ extra special for you.”
“You know what that means,” I say out of the side of my mouth, then begin looking at my material.
Nick seems just as engrossed in his Elvis set study. “Listen to this one. ‘You know, Elvis was a red-meat guy. Boy, did he love his steaks. That’s why he wrote... ’ ” Then Nick sings, “Loooove meat tender. Love meat true.”
I roll my eyes so hard that my head rolls back with them. “Those are the kind of jokes we’re doing? We have to sing?” I frantically flip through my pages.
Don’t be cruel, Elvis Week.
Millie hovers near me. “Now, you got some contacts you can put in or somethin’? Or are those glasses just for show?”
“No. They’re very necessary.” Especially since I will likely be relying on that teleprompter.
“Well, I’m not sure they’re gonna work for this look. Priscilla never wore glasses. You know the saying, Elvis don’t make passes at girls that wear glasses.” Millie’s completely serious and my cheeks grow resentfully hot. This is definitely punishment.
“Triple pay, free hotel,” Nick says, reminding me this time.
I grit my teeth and remove my glasses, thankful I can’t see my own reflection in the mirror. Fortunately for me, I’m nearsighted so I focus on studying my material while she contours my cheeks and swipes my spidery fake lashes with mascara. Finally, she fashions a giant bouffant wig to my head. I don’t need 20/20 vision to see that it gives me a good eight inches. “Good Lord, this is extra.”
“Just be grateful you don’t have to dance in it,” Millie says, and spritzes me with an Elizabeth Taylor perfume.
“Really? Because I feel like a go-go dancer.”
“You look great. Now let me get your costumes.” Ms. Millie runs out of the room. I slide on my glasses to get a proper look at myself. Nick shifts his eyes my way in our mirrored reflections.
“You look like a knockoff Danny Zuko,” I say.
“And you look like a goth Dolly Parton.”
“Hey.” I point a stern finger his way. “Leave Dolly out of this. We’re at Graceland.”
“Here we are!” Millie sings, returning to the makeup room holding the famous white Elvis jumpsuit, a white dress... and a wedding veil? Can this get any worse?
“Have mercy,” Nick says, staring down at his.
“That’s not Elvis, honey. That’s Uncle Jesse,” Millie says, handing him the costumed hanger. Finally, something we agree on.
“See,” I add, then turn my attention to the dress and veil I’m now holding. Of course, I sleep with a married man and now I have to dress up like a Halloween bride. Why doesn’t she just spray a scarlet A on my chest with the perfume or scribble whore on my back with the mascara wand and call it a day? I can’t put this thing on. “Exactly what kind of costume is this?”
