Suzanne HIcks
Are You Lonesome Tonight?
I’m dating the last Elvis in Las Vegas. There used to be an Elvis impersonator just about everywhere you went in town. Bedazzled jumpsuit-wearing Elvises posing for photos with tourists on the sidewalks along The Strip and Fremont Street. Caped Elvises performing wedding ceremonies in little chapels. Young Elvises and old Elvises singing in countless casinos. But not anymore. Now there’s just my Elvis. Of course I don’t call him Elvis except when I go to see him perform. To me he’s just Randall, but in bed he asks me to call him The King.
My God, did I swoon when I first saw him gyrating his hips on stage. He always ends his show with “Can’t Help Falling in Love” and points me out to the audience. The lighting tech used to throw the spotlight on me, but then Randall worried it took the crowd’s focus away from him. Years ago, he’d serenade me on stage. The first time I flushed, feeling a flutter in my chest because I thought he was going to propose, but it was just part of his act. If he had asked back then, I think I would have said yes.
Often we grab a drink at the bar after his shows. Always the same spot where all the other lasts hang out. The last Frank, Sammy, Dean. There were two Franks, but Glen retired a few months ago and moved to Jersey to live near his daughter and grandkids. Randall tells me he worries the casino will cancel his show before he can retire. Ticket sales have been going down. The younger crowds aren’t interested in Elvis or crooners. They’re more interested in comedy acts, variety shows, and mostly, the clubs.
When my sister visited last week, Randall added a plus one next to my name on the guest list, but we did something else. When he asked why we didn’t show up, I told him I wanted to take her somewhere different, so we went to a magic show. I didn’t tell him how we giggled when I told her that “Kentucky Rain” wasn’t in the forecast before we went out that night. I didn’t tell him that the magician has been coming into the restaurant for the past month, always requesting to sit in my section.
Last night he closed out his set with “Suspicious Minds”, his accusing gaze fixed on me. He says my affection for him is fading just like this town’s interest in Elvis. I tell him he’s the only one I want, that Vegas will always need Elvis. When we go to bed, he wraps his arms around me and sings “Love Me Tender” softly in my ear as I fall asleep, knowing that my words might not be true.
Suzanne Hicks
Suzanne Hicks is a disabled writer living with multiple sclerosis. Her stories have appeared in Gone Lawn, Milk Candy Review, Atlas and Alice, Maudlin House, Roi Fainéant Press, New Flash Fiction Review, and elsewhere. Find her at suzannehickswrites.com and on Twitter @iamsuzannehicks.