Parody - Elvis enters a competition
Whilst rain lashed the pavements in downtown Memphis a young guitarist sang to a God-fearing audience in the church hall, something about crying in a chapel. Suddenly a tall imposing stranger with long saturnine features sitting on the front row stood up and shouted,
‘Hey Elvis. Want t’ know how t’ liven up this crowd of dead-necks?’
Elvis stopped strumming and looked around at his audience to see if anyone else had heard him but they all appeared to be fast asleep. Being a well brought up all American boy from the south he didn’t wish to offend anyone so he came to the front of the stage and whispered to the man so that his fellow churchgoers couldn’t hear.
‘I guess so, Sir. What would you suggest?’
‘Well for a start you must pack in that miserable dirge yer call singin’. Mind if I show yer somethin’ else?’
Elvis handed him his guitar and the man began to sing. ‘Well a bless my soul, what’s er wrong with me? I’m itchin’ like a man on a fuzzy tree,’ All the time he moved his hips suggestively to the rhythm. One by one the audience woke up and began tapping their feet.
‘Here son, now you try it. Yer gotta make it live, Man.’
Elvis took back his guitar and continued the song, ‘Ooh do yer say I’m actin’ wild as a bug, I’’m in love, Ugh! I’m all shook up,’ thrusting his hips this way and that until all the women in the room were wild with desire.
The stranger nodded approvingly and gave a satisfied smirk. He rose from his seat and began walking out.
‘
'Hey, Sir. What’s your name?’ called Elvis.
‘It’s Nicholas, Nick for short. And another thing. Get some tight pants. Ye need a little more oomph with your pelvis. Oh yes, and let yer hair grow. It’s too short.’
‘But, Sir where can I find you?’
‘Don’t worry, Son. I’ll find you.’ And he disappeared into the night.
Some weeks later Elvis was playing to a bigger audience at the local theatre. He’d written more cool songs with a great beat and taken Nick’s advice. Wearing very tight pants his hair now flopped over his face when he sang drawing crowds of screaming teenagers wherever he went. Disgusted parents complained to the newspapers that he was leading their children astray with his suggestive movements and he was lapping up his notoriety. He’d almost forgotten the stranger who’d given him the advice which set him on his path to fame, until one evening as he was leaving the theatre a tall figure stepped out of the shadows.
‘How’s it goin’, Son?’
‘Well Sir, I guess it was a sell out. I sure would like to give you somethin’ for your good advice.’
‘No need. Just keep doing as I say and you’ll rule the world. That’s payment enough for me.’ Nick’s lips parted in a devilish grin revealing a row of glistening white teeth. Everything about this man appeared immaculate from his un-crinkled white suit to his sleek black hair. As quickly as he’d appeared he was swallowed by the crowd of fans waiting for Elvis to sign their autograph books.
Over the following year Elvis forgot about the stranger. His fame spread and before long he was courted by agents and record companies world-wide, all wanting to cash in on his amazing charisma.
‘Hey, Elvis,’ they’d clamour down the phone with voices strangely reminiscent of his mentor, ‘Let us be your agent and make you a star.’
He only had to open his mouth, sweep back his hair, and wiggle his hips to have women of all ages swooning at his feet. Ambulances queued outside wherever he played waiting to ferry away teenage girls who’d been overcome by sexual fervour. The boy from the backwoods of Mississippi began to believe that he truly was the King of Rock and Roll whilst Nick lingered forever in the background, unseen but whispering his approval.
‘Keep up the good work Son. You’re a boy after my own heart.’
Years later Elvis fell in love with a sweet young girl called Priscilla. They married and had a little girl. Everything was perfect. Fame, Fans, Love and Money. What else did he need? Somewhere in his mind Elvis thought he heard Nick’s mocking laughter but he dismissed it as his imagination playing tricks.
Life was good. He bought a mansion in Memphis for his queen calling it Graceland, a place where he could relax with his closest friends and bring up his little princess. But Priscilla felt trapped.
‘Elvis, let’s go out and enjoy ourselves. I’m feeling suffocated in this house.’
‘And what about the screaming fans? I’m recognised wherever I go. I guess I’ll just order somethin’ in. I sure fancy a pizza. How ‘bout you, Hon?’
Priscilla sighed.
‘Nothin’ for me. I’ll just get Cook to rustle up an omelette.’
They had this conversation time and time again whilst Priscilla lost weight and Elvis gradually grew more and more flabby until one day Priscilla had had enough.
‘Elvis, I need some fun in my life. I’m leaving you. Let me know when you’re ready to give up this charade, then maybe we can start over.’
But it was too late for Elvis to start again. He was trapped. He hadn’t bargained for the pressure that fame brought. The once free and easy young guitarist was now finding the pace of life being the King of Rock too much to take, and without Priscilla life became even more stressful. Unable to sleep he resorted to taking tranquilizers and anti-depressants.
Eventually doctors refused to prescribe any more so he employed an expensive private medical practitioner, Doctor Nicholaides
‘Don’t worry, Son,’ whispered Nick writing yet another prescription. ‘This’ll sort you out.’
By this time Elvis was in no state to recognise the uncanny resemblance to another Nick from years ago. All he wanted was his pills.
Things went from bad to worse. Whilst his fan base increased his appearances lessened and Elvis spent more and more time brooding behind the gates of Graceland.
One day in a moment of lucidity he recognised Nick and realised he had to somehow escape from the hold he had over him.
‘Nick, you’ve bin real wonderful to me. And now you’re giving me pills to take away the pain.’
‘That’s right, Elvis. You’re mine now, Son.’
‘Please Sir. I’m all mixed up with all this fame. All it’s brought is pain and sorrow. I just want my wife and li’le girl back again.’
‘Ah,’ Nick shook his head, ‘It’s not so easy once you’ve sold your soul to me.’ His mocking laughter rang out over the gates of Graceland.
Elvis sank to his knees.
‘I’ll do anythin’, anythin’ you say. Just give me back my life.’
Nick grinned, a devious plan forming in his mind.
‘OK. One chance. There’s an Elvis competition in Las Vegas this weekend. If you can convince everyone that you’re the real Elvis I’ll set you free.’
That weekend Elvis arrived in L.A. Wherever he looked there were Elvis lookalikes; some tall and slim dressed in white, others more stockily built dressed in black. All had black hair and quiffs hanging over their eyes, all carried guitars. Passing a shop window he caught sight of his bloated form. How could the audience recognise him as the real Elvis?
Arriving at the theatre he was given a number, then told to line up with the other contestants. Each one in turn sang a song which he’d made famous. “Blue suede shoes” and “All Shook up” seemed to be the most popular. Every competitor had his famous wiggle down to a fine art. It was strange watching himself in each one of them.
Nick’s voice whispered in his ear,
‘See, Elvis, it’s not so easy to escape your fame. Everyone wants to be you, or at least how you were. You’ll never die. You’ll just keep living as long as they want you to.’
Elvis was overcome with doubt. How could he escape Nick’s hold over him when they all looked so much better than him. His number was called and he walked onto the stage, a swollen copy of his former self. He looked around at the expectant faces of his fans and thought back to his days before fame destroyed him, when he was a clean-cut youngster belting out gospel songs in the church hall. He opened his mouth and began to sing, ‘Oh I wish I was in the land of cotton…’ His voice rang out full of longing and melancholy, a sound so pure, stilling the audience with its beauty and truth. Finally it rose to a crescendo, ‘Glory Glory Halleluiah, His truth is marching on.’
There was a deathly hush…
Suddenly the crowd erupted.
‘Elvis! Elvis!’ Their cries rocked the auditorium.
That night the Almighty took his child home. Elvis was free at last. Halleluiah!
THE END