#georgesgarage

[thatbanditqueen]

George's Garage

An Elvis Presley one-shot response to the prompt: How are we going to solve this problem?

Summary: Elvis and the Memphis Mafia are driving back to Hollywood from Memphis to shoot Kissin' Cousins, when the car breaks down on Route 66. Luckily they are not too far from George's garage and her skilled, lady mechanic fingers.

Warnings: 18+ DNI, E to L (ish), fellatio, swearing, implied drug use. Also some minor historical inaccuracies. ALL THE TYPOS. Written in haste under pressure. Sort of.

Word Count: Yeah, this one got away from me.... 7.5 K

Saturday, October 5, 1963

They were an hour away from Needles, and the crisp, hot midday air blew over Billy’s face as as he steadied his arm on the white convertible. He turned his eyes to the burnt desert, taking in the cacti and shrubbery below a clear, powder blue sky. The Yucca trees stood tall, like hunched warriors in the distance, bent over and ready to descend on Elvis’ caravan racing along the highway. The radio fizzled and Billy turned to watch Elvis roll the dial knob between his fingers until he got reception and began singing along to Bobby Vinton’s latest hit, “Blue Velvet,” in an offkey high voice, laughing at himself. Billy forced a smile and twisted awkwardly in his seat, the blue leather creaked under him, and he wished he was back in Memphis eating dinner with Jo.  He’d been riding shotgun the last four days ago. His butt ached and he was struggling to stay on the same mental frequency as his cousin, who had started the trip with the same high enthusiasm he usually had for the road. However, the closer they got to Hollywood, the more erratic Elvis’ mood had become. He had ranged from being introspective and engaging, talking softly and seriously about plans to expand Graceland, to despondent rants about how nice it was to be with the guys away from women. Billy assumed this specifically referred to one woman in particular and her persistent requests to come to Los Angeles with them. Then there had been the violent tantrums about "that embarrassin,' sorry-ass excuse for a” movie they were driving to LA to shoot, every time Joe brought up the fact that they were supposed to be in LA already. Elvis began halting their progress even more after the fight with Joe. There were now impromptu football games on the side of the road several times a day, meals had become long, leisurely affairs and each stop along the way involved intense pranks. Billy had rings of black shoe shine around his eyes for the better part of yesterday after looking though a pair of Elvis’ binoculars. Though he'd had been glad to see Elvis smile, even if it was at his expense.

The Buick drove on, and Billy watched Elvis adjust the black yachting hat on his head.

“Man oh man, Joe says we’re ‘posed to film all the Great Smoky scenes in Big Bear. Big Bear! Can ya believe it? Ain’t no one gonna believe those scraggly ass sorry California ant hills are the Blue Ridge mountains. I can tell you that, man. I can tell you that.”

Billy tightened his smile and contemplated the right thing to say.

“I said, can ya believe that?” Elvis jabbed Billy expectantly. “With me, ME, of all people, goddammit. Those Hollywood jackasses ain’t ever even been to Tennessee and they want me to go round chasin’ after my cousin’s coochie like some inbred hillbilly pretendin’ Big Bear is goddamn Cades Cove.”

“You know ain’t no one looking at the background EP, specially not with you bein’ all handsome, uh, up der on the screen. Singing the way you do. With all those beautiful girls. Shouldn't worry so much, everything is gonna be good.”

Elvis looked ahead, grunting, while Billy turned his head around to look back and nod at Alan driving the motor home behind them, seemingly laughing and smoking a cigar with Red, Sonny and Joe. Alan tipped his head with a wink, and Billy rolled his eyes, jarred from his backwards view by the slap of Elvis’ hand.

“Hey, man, hey, hand me my toiletries, huh Billum?”

Billy nodded with a “Sure,” and reached his hand back along the floor of the back seat. Not finding it through touch, Billy flipped around and  began to panic, because Billy was an observant man. He knew what Elvis’ black travel case full of pills looked like. And as he stared down at the blue carpeted floor beneath him he did not see it there. He also knew that when he reported this to Elvis he was going to regret coming on this trip more than he already did. So he squirmed, letting the expensice, custom blue leather squeak under him as he shifted from side-to-side, hesitating to meet Elvis’ eyes in the rear view mirror. Ten minutes later, Billy was leaning against the side of the RV smoking in Sonny’s shadow and staring silently at Joe and Red while Elvis stomped up and down the motor home screeching at Alan.

“Whatcha mean you ain’t seen it? Ya hog-eared fat, useless sonabitch. I - I -I.” They heard the sound of trampling feet stop. “Goddamit, I ‘member vividly handin’ it to you, and telling you ta put in the back seat of the car.”

They could hear Alan’s pitiful words stammer out through the walls. “I musta -  musta put it down in the bathroom at that rest stop.”

“I musta put it down in the bathroom in that rest stop!” Elvis high vibrato mimicking Alan reverberated through the metal, and Billy saw Red shoot Sonny a knowing look as they listened. “Well you’re the one whose gonna ‘splain ta Billy why he and I are turnin’ around and going back.”

The mood in the car was decidedly different three hours later as the Buick sped over the same stretch of pavement flying through the Yucca Valley and past Needles. Billy was still in the convertible, trying to think of any reasonable excuse why he needed to be in the RV with the others. Now he sat quietly, nodding occasionally as Elvis muttered angrily to himself, his black toiletry case neatly tucked next to Billy’s feet in the car cabin. Billy started planning out how he would explain why Joe should be driving with Elvis to go over the upcoming filming schedule, and he planned to suggest this when they eventually caught up to the others. He wondered if the guys were already at the motel in Barstow,  but did not have long to contemplate his escape from these close quarters with Elvis before a milky white cloud of smoke exploded out of the engine in front of them and he found himself clutching the seat for dear life as Elvis guided the sputtering Buick to the side of the road.

Billy was once again leaning against a car smoking. He was not exactly sure where they were, somewhere between  between Needles and Barstow, he figured. However, the desire to know precisely where they were was secondary to his innate desire to not be there at all. Where ever here actually was. Billy watched a lizard crawl over the warm road, then scamper off at the sound of Elvis shrill high pitched screams. Billy had never wished more fervently that he was a lizard, or anything else at all, actually, then in that moment as he looked at the reptile slither off the road away from the sound of Elvis kicking the front tire, his voice ringing out through the stillness of the Mojave desert at sunset.

“GODDDAMMIT! God fucking  dammit. GOD. DAMN. IT.”

Billy wiped the sweat off his forehead and squinting at what looked like a cluster of buildings further along on the horizon.

************************************************************************

The office counter fan pushed cool air on George and blew her dark brown curls into her face. She tucked them back behind her ear as she stared down at her crossword puzzle and bobbed a pencil against her lip in contemplation, sucking it momentarily.

“Five letter word for neckwear. Hmmm.”

Frustrated, she moved on to the next across word clue, pausing as her eyes roamed over the stack of paperwork she was supposed to be working on.

“Ugh, c’mon, just knock out these orders and then you can close up. It’s almost 6.”

Nodding to the sound of her own voice, George had just resolved to set aside the crossword puzzle when the front door bell startled her and she looked up to see two men stagger into the office, panting and laughing.

The one in front had on a black yachting hat, and his head was down as he tucked his shirt in. There across his neck was a jaunty, white decorative scarf held by a golden cravat.

“Ascot!” Georgie exclaimed, grabbing her pencil and excitedly filling in 5 Across. But her smile quickly faded as she looked up to see the quizzical face of Elvis Presley looking back.

“Huh, yeah, uh huh.” He pushed his gold cravat up his very short, very shiny, very expensive white silk ascot tie.

 Elvis’ face went from confused to confident as he steadied himself, placing his thumbs in his belt loops, and sauntering up to the counter to lay his hand down. He moved it over George’s hand in an instantly familiar and somewhat intensely intimate manner.  George was not prepared for the sweaty, pit stained lanky mass of charisma now rubbing his thumb along side the pinky of her left hand.

“Like that, huh, darlin?” Elvis winked, and tugged at the edge of the ascot as he purred. “Listen, is your boss around?”

George looked down at her hand, Elvis’ forwardness had shocked her and she recoiled into herself for a moment before pulling her hand away. She glanced at the short, skinny guy behind him who was avoiding her gaze and suddenly taking an intense interest in the photos hanging on the office wall.

It had been almost ten years since he first began performing, yet, watching women's awestruck expressions still gave Elvis a warm rush and made him feel special. Elvis winked at George, and decided to try and make her feel comfortable.

He smiled shyly and looked down, grasping her hand back up between his.

“Shhh, s’ok , honey, it's ok, now."

He sucked in a deep breath, chuckling.

"I, uh, I really would rather ya treated me like a normal person. No need to get flustered.”

He turned his blue eyes back up to her and waggled his eyebrows.

“So, uh, now, c’mon honey, can you grab ya boss, hmmm? We’re in need of help somethin' awful.”

“Well, honey,” George collected her self, and pulled her hand back. Again. She looked Elvis in the eyes, glancing back at his ascot for a moment. What a pointless, ridiculous, pompous accessory. “I assure you I am not flustered.”

“Well, uh, good, then. I reckon that ya can hop to it, woman, go get ya boss.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully, tilting his head to the side door that led to the garage. “We need ta get back on tha - “

Billy squinted and looked closer at one of the photos, and turned to interrupt his cousin.

“Hey, EP, I th-th-th —”

“Shhh, Billy, just a second.”

George pursed her lips and then smiled tightly.

“Why don’t you tell me what brings you guys in tonight?”

Elvis grinned at her, the length of his chin extended as the right side of his mouth crooked up in another smile and exposed his teeth. He patted the top of her hand. Again. George flinched back. Again.

“Hmm, I’d love to spend all night talking cars with ya sugar.”

Elvis looked back at Billy, who immediately chuckled nervously.

“But,uh, well, we got an urgent situation. Now,  be a good girl and go run an get the mechanic.”

Billy stepped closer to try whisper in Elvis’ ear, but he shushed him as George narrowed her eyes, straightening her body so she sat taller above the counter, almost even with Elvis’ gaze.  This did not seem to deter Elvis’ from leaning closer into her personal space, his face now just inches above hers.

Lips quirking into a tight, polite exaggerated smile, George shook her head as she reclaimed her hand. Again. How did he do it? She hadn’t even noticed it was on her.

“I’m sorry boys.” She put on an exaggerated pout. “The boss decided not take anymore jobs today. We close in five minutes anyway —”

“Now, now, now, wait just a goddamn minute. What do you expect us to do?”

Elvis’s nostrils flared out, and he clenched his fists, his voice rising into a growl. All that charm was now replaced by disbelief as he stepped back and crossed his arms.

 “Nah, uh uh, we ain’t leavin’ til you take your sweet little behind and go find who ever, ever, who ever runs this place.” He slammed his fist on the counter to show that he meant business.

For the twentieth time today, Billy looked down into the ground and wished he was in Memphis.

Nonplussed, George pulled her mouth into an even wider smile.

“Listen, Barstow’s an hour away, by car. Not sure how long it would take you to walk.”

She strolled around toward the swinging door that led to the garage.

“We open at 8 a.m. tomorrow.”

She turned to go back to the workshop, pausing at the whine in Elvis’ voice.

“Now, now, uh uh. We ain’t leavin’ til we talk to your boss.”

Georgie raised her eyebrow and tilted her head.

“Suit yourself.”

She went into the shop and began pulling down the service bay doors that opened up to parking lot.

After the door swung shut, Billy pulled on Elvis’ shirt.

“Did you get a load of that chick, huh, Bill? Who pissed in her coffee this morinin’, that’s what I wanna know. Was it me, now, or did she go from gobsmacked fan to cool bitch in under two minutes. Weren’t asking for any special treatment. You heard me, I asked to be treated like, like, like any regular, normal customer. Right?”

Elvis threw his yachting cap on the counter in a huff, and stomped his foot. Billy watched as Elvis adjusted his little gold cravat and leaned back on the raised heel of his Italian black leather boots. Yup, just a regular guy...

“She wouldn’t even go get her boss —”

Billy coughed.  “Oh, I think she got the boss alright.”

Elvis raised his eyebrows, and Billy pointed to the photos on the wall of a female in dirty coveralls working on cars, in some she was standing next to an older women who was also in coveralls.

“Huh, well I’ll be. A lady grease monkey. So that’s why she’s got her panties in a twist.”

Billy grinned. “Well, I reckon if anyone can untwist a girl’s panties, it’s you.”

Elvis shoved his cousin’s shoulder and winked as he walked backwards through the swinging door into the auto shop. George turned from rolling down the last bay door and crossed her arms, glaring, as Elvis walked toward her. His hat was gone and his arms hung back under his chest, the sleeves of his blue, silk shirt were rolled up and his left hand was notched at his waist. The way his long fingers stretched out over his hip gave his stance an air of purpose. She met his blue eyes and they twinkled with amusement.

“Here now, I - I- I think we got off on the wrong foot out there, bossman.”

Georgie wiped her hands on her jeans, realizing just how much taller he was as he strode toward her. “Hmmm, there’s no need for that, George is fine.”

“George?”

“Georgina if you wanna be more formal, George, Georgie, G, I answer to ‘em all.”

“Alright Georgie George. Can we start again?”

Georgie crossed her arms and pursed her lips, but nodded, moving Elvis’ hand from her waist as she jutted her chin up to look at him. He instantly moved his left hand to her shoulder, once again his thumb was immediate and intimate as it rubbed her collar bone.

“Look, pretty girl like you? How were we sposed to know —”

George lifted his hand from her shoulder, smoothing out her blouse.

“You can lay off the charm. Trust me, you are not the first schmuck to walk in here thinking I’m the secretary.”

Elvis lifted his hands up in defeat.

“OK, ok, now, no charm, I got it. Just brass tacks, jack. George, I mean.”

He winked. Again. A stifled laugh rippled under his cheeks, and George found his smug manner both infuriating and magnetic. She also felt an inexplicable desire to slap his face.

“So, my car’s broke down back on the highway. How are we going to solve this problem, huh?”

George looked at the clock on the wall above her work bench. 6:15. Maude would just be finishing up supper over at the motel, and her stomach had started to growl in anticipation. She looked at Elvis then back at the floor.

“Technically, WE are done working for the day.”

She sighed, somehow his hand was back at her waist and George felt her resolve fading.

“BUT, I hate to think of what I’m guessing is a very fancy, expensive car out there on the highway over night.”

Elvis smirked and adjusted his silk ascot. “Now, wait a minute here, what makes you think I’d own a fancy car?”

“Oh, let’s just call it female intuition. Handier than you’d think in this line of work.”

George removed Elvis hand from her waist, and looked towards the corner of her shop, as she found it increasingly difficult to maintain her brusk, professional demeanor when staring directly into his face.

“Look, I am due for supper, but after, I can drive out with my tow truck and bring your vehicle back here to look over in the morning. How bout that?”

“Sss - sounds good, sounds real good. We can definitely go after we eat, cuz I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”

************************************************************************

It was dark when they returned to the garage and George led the way around the back to her tow truck. Billy’s small, short body sat on the passenger side of the cab, and George’s small, short figure sat in the driver’s seat. In between them sat the large, wide, body of Elvis Presley, his arms extended over the back of the seat in both directions, mirrored by the wide berth of his spread legs as he made himself comfortable. He stroked his chin as he looked at himself in the rearview mirror, running his hand through his hair, then pulling out a comb to fix it. George rolled her eyes.

“Trust me, no one is gonna see you out here. In the desert. At 8 o’clock at night.” She motioned to the murky, black expanse of the highway ahead of them.

“Just feel more comfortable to have it all neat and tidy and in the right place. You know how it is, Georgie George, with ya do-hickey here holding this mess a curls back.”

Elvis tugged on George’s pony tail, and she swatted his hand away with an annoyed sigh, then decided to push her knee back against him and reclaim some of her leg room. George’s smile at her triumph was short lived, for, while Elvis held his knees closer together, now his hand slid down along her thigh to envelope her knee cap, squeezing absentmindedly while Billy talked at length about nothing at all. George pushed his hand off her knee, only to find it around her shoulders a moment later, and she gave up, actually pressing into him harder when she saw the white car and turned her steering wheel to parallel park the back of the tow truck at the trunk of the Buick.

Elvis started to reach up for the hook and George hit his hand away from her equipment.

“Stop. I need to line them up a little better. If you want to be helpful, stand there.” She pointed to the edge of the car’s trunk. “And guide me back so the tires are straight from each other, can you handle that?”

“Yes bossman, you just go right ahead, me an Billum are standing by for your orders.” He smirked as he gave George a salute. Billy smiled apologetically

George ignored them, jumping out again when she was content that the tires were lined up and quietly asked if someone would put the car in neutral. Elvis threw Billy the keys, and stood watching as George bent down with her flashlight and pushed herself over the dirt so she was under the back of the Buick. Elvis whistled.

“Hmm, really get down in there, don’t ya?”

“Hmmpf. I’m not afraid of dirt, Mr. Presley.”

George called up to him, as she pulled the lift bar out under the Buick, hitching it to the car, then pulling her up and grabbing a wrench to jack the back of the car until the two back tires were now held completely off the ground. Elvis’ bottom lip hung down as he watched George jump up on the back of the tow truck, and swing down with the hook hangingcoff the boom to secure it to the Buick. When she was satisfied it would hold, George called to Billy to turn the Buick’s lights on, and jumped on the ground, moving towards the driver’s seat as she wiped her hands.

“Hold on, now.”

Elvis whispered, holding George by her shoulders and licking his thumb.

“Not afraid of grease, neither, huh?”

He rolled his wet thumb slowly over the long black streak on her cheek, back and forth until it was gone. His eyes roamed over her face, taking in the way the bottom of her front teeth appeared just slightly under her top lip as she looked up at him and trembled ever so slightly from his touch. He chuckled when she grimaced and pushed his hand away, replacing it with a bandana that she furnished from her coveralls to wipe her face herself .

Elvis brushed dirt off her chest, and moved her around, ignoring the way her hands tried to push him off, as he wiped the dirt off her back and bottom.

“Hush now, I know ya ain’t scared of dirt, doesn’t mean ya wanna be covered in it.”

He brushed his hands off and held her at her waist.

“Moon’s out tonight. Kinda pretty out here in the quiet of the desert.”

Neither of them looked at the moon. Or the desert. They didn't move until the sound of Billy’s footsteps in the gravel broke the spell and they remembered where they were and what was happening. George jolted back, smoothing her hair, as she nodded and walked over to get in the car.

George was silent on the drive back, turning the radio up to let the voices of Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons tell her, Billy and Elvis how to walk like a man. Billy droned on about how he never got used to looking out at the desert, and wondered what tumbleweeds really were and where they came from. She was glad for all the noise, it helped her focus her mind on the road ahead and the tasks she needed to do to when they got back, and led her attention away from the strong, warm thigh pressing against her own. George softened into making requests instead of barking commands back at the shop, though she avoided looking directly at Elvis as she said goodnight. Instead, she nodded into Billy’s eyes as she told them to come back in the morning.

************************************************************************

Morning was approximately 11:17 a.m. At least it was for the occupants of room 217. It was 11:45 when they rambled into the motel office and Elvis sweet talked George’s older sister, Maude, into making breakfast, showing her how to burn her bacon the way he liked it as she laughed and answered his random questions about their family and life on Route 66. It was well past noon when Elvis finished the last of his black coffee, and made Maude blush when he crept up behind her at the kitchen sink to kiss her cheek  with a “Thanks for breakfast, honey.” Then he gave Billy very detailed instructions to keep calling the house back in LA, find out where the RV was, and get Joe up to speed on what had happened. 

“He needs to get out here and bring money, cause I don’t know how long this whole thing is gonna take.”

Billy looked over at his cousin. “Gonna have him drive you back tonight?”

“Hell no, I ain’t leaving my car here. Where’d ya get that idea?”

“Joe ain’t gonna be happy with me, EP, tomorrow is Monday, aintcha ‘sposed to go in to record them songs for Kissin——”

“You can tell ol Diamond Joe, from me, that he’s just gonna have to put ‘em off. This car is a custom, one-of-a-kind Buick Skylark with leather seats, a gold plated dash board and a car phone. If he thinks I’m leaving without overseeing its repair, he’s off his goddamn rocker.” 

Billy gulped with an uneasy smile. He loved his cousin, but couldn’t help wishing it was a year ago and they were setting off to Hawaii to do exterior shots for Girls, Girls, Girls, when the mood was lighter and Marty and Lamar were still around.

Ignoring Billy’s puppy dog eyes, Elvis set off across the highway to George’s garage. He smiled at the sight of her legs sticking out from under his car, and he stood for a while admiring them before he whistled flirtatiously and watched her grease streaked face emerge rolling out.

“Never thought I’d like the look of canvas coveralls so much.” Elvis’ cheeks hollowed out as he grinned in boyish glee at George’s disdainful look, then willfully ignored it, walking closer to her and leaning on his car. “What’s the word, bossman?”

“Hmmm. Well, all it needs is an oil change.”

“Oh? That all? ”

“Oh yeah, that’s all. Just make it a month ago. That pan is bone dry, and you’ve blown the head gasket, which explains the white smoke you described. And your engine is starting to warp.”

Elvis smiled as he watched her talk.

“Mr. Presley, I hardly think this is something to smile about, this car - well, normally I’d recommend—"

“Elvis.” He stepped closer.

George looked at him confused, realizing her head was at eye level with the front pocket of his dark blue polka dotted satin shirt.

“What?”

“Elvis, baby, how many times I gotta tell ya to call me Elvis?”

He rubbed her waist. And George lifted his hand off her body, ignoring the tingling feeling she felt as she patted his chest deliberately to push him back.

“Um, huh.”

She breathed.

“Right, ok, Mr. Presley. I mean Elvis. As I was saying, um, usually, in these circumstances I recommend getting a new car, because the cost of a new engine is about the same as a new Buick. But you have a lot of.”

She paused to lift his hand from her shoulder, unsure how it got there, but instinctively stepping back when she saw Elvis take a step closer to her, his hand rolling over the white metal of the Skylark’s rim.

“Um - uh. A lot of expensive-looking modifications that make this vehicle, erm, um, valuable.”

George tripped over her sliding roller and Elvis caught her in his arms, grinning as she looked up into his eyes.

“Hmmm, yeah, I know all ‘bout those modifications, Georgie Girl. Oversaw the custi-a-mi-zation of this baby myself, ev’ry inch.”

He smirked at way George trembled and then pushed him off, steadying herself as she stumbled back.

“Hmm, well, for someone so involved you seem to have little regard for your car’s well being.”

Elvis frowned, and shook his head.

“What now?”

“I said, for someone who throws so much money into cars, you don’t seem to care much or know much about them. That car needed an oil change weeks ago, and now I’ll be lucky if I can salvage it. It’s gonna take me days to undo the damage you’ve caused driving it across the country on sludge.”

Elvis rolled back onto the heels of his expensive, Italian boots. He suddenly wished he’d worn an ascot today, it would have been nice to have something there to pull on for comfort. Instead, he braced himself at his hips, his stomach jutting up as he looked at George and frowned. She was pretty, smart, and the her utter obliviousness to how good looking she was, along with the way she seemed to try very hard to resist his advances, aroused him even more. But now she was criticizing how he took care of his cars and seemed to be questioning his very understanding of how motor vehicles. Which, to be fair to George, was an entirely accurate estimation of Elvis. His main question getting into one of his cars was: “Where is the key?” Though, in his defense, this was the only question usually necessary,  because Lamar had been taking care of everything, until the ungrateful bastard had run off to work in Nashville and left the car maintenance to the other guys. Who had promptly forgot about it.

“Now, wait just a goddamn minute, honey, I don’t much appreciate the way y-y- y.”

Elvis clenched his fist and breathed deeply.

“If you are insinuating I don’t know how to take care of my cars, well, you must be outta your goddamn mind. Do you know how many cars I own? What my work schedule is like? I’ll have you know that I have so many cars, I just go out and jump into one, and usually everything is fine, cuz my guys keep em all lubed up real good. It’s just that, well, my car guy just quit, and this one musta fallen by the wayside before he left.”

“Hmmm.” George crossed her arms. “I can’t imagine why someone would want to leave your employment.”

“What’s that ‘sposed to mean?”

“It means that you are difficult and you are spoiled. And full of your self. Think you can go where ever you want, do whatever you please. Got my sister as your short order cook now too. You know, it is just the two of us running the motel and garage out here. She was supposed to be overseeing check out this morning, but no, she’s cooking for you, and so the maids were running to me for direction while she serves you breakfast.”

Elvis stepped forward, hovering over George’s face.

“Jealous, baby? Sounds a lot like you wished it were you a - puttin’ somethin’ in my mouth.”

George slapped him, her eyes on fire.

“Get out of my garage. You’re lucky I’m still willing to - to - work on your - your - stupid, absurdly customized, ridiculous car.”

Elvis rubbed his smarting cheek, with a smirk, then shook his head.

“Ok, ok. I’m leaving. I just came over to see what the diagnosis was, crazy woman.”

George turned around and went to grab a wrench.

“It’s going to be two more days, at the soonest. And I charge double for today, on account that it’s Sunday. Looking at that gold plated dashboard, I figure you can afford my hourly rate.”

“Mhmmm. Uh huh. Don’t you worry, honey, I’m used to paying women double for their hourly rate. Long as I get what I pay for.”

“Get. Out. Before I change my mind.”

George stared ahead at the tools hanging in front her, waiting for the sound of his footsteps to dissipate before she turned around and screamed into the counter below her. She hated Elvis Presley, she hated the ostentatious way he had poured money into superficial aspects of a car that do not make a difference to its performance, and she hated the way his smug face smirked down at her when he talked. But most of all, she hated, hated, hated the way he seemed to always be touching her, it wasn’t even necessarily sexual, just a reflex, like breathing.

“Like his stupid, heavy opened mouth breathing. Ugh. The sooner you get this car fixed, the sooner you an get him out of your hair and back on the road.”

George threw herself into fixing the Buick like a woman possessed.

************************************************************************

George did not join them for dinner, and Elvis politely asked Maude for a second helping of her chili con carne while Billy regaled her with tales from previous road trips. The sanitized versions, of course, with a promise that they would never pull any of the pranks he described at her motel.

“I reckon we ain’t never stayed here no how, cuz it’s so close to LA, usually try to get to Winslow the first night out to Memphis. Same on the way back, lessen we cut over to Sin City.”

He looked at Elvis, whose eyes were gazing at the lit window above the garage, his mind lost in thought remembering the fiery look in George’s hazel eyes, and the shapely contour of her bottom underneath his hands as he’d wiped the dirt off her the night before.

“Right, EP?” Billy repeated himself, and Elvis looked up in a daze, and stood.

“Hmmm, sorry y’all. This is very good chili, ma’am, very good. I like that you don’t put onions in yours, no, no, it’s just right. Just how I like it.”

He brought his bowl to the sink, and looked at Billy’s quizzical face, as he excused himself.

“I, uh, I. Well, I think I need to go apologize to your sister. I have a bad temper, I know it, boy do I know it. Mighty Mouth ova there knows it.”

Billy nodded, slowly, waiting to see where this was going.

”I ,uh, well, I reckon I need to go straighten things out with George, so she ain’t liable to pour sugar in my gas tank or nothin.”

George was on her third beer when she opened the door of her apartment to find Elvis’ dark front hair flop dangling down toward her. She sipped from the bottle as she started to ask him what he wanted, only to watch him push through her outstretched arm, the she was using to block his entry to her flat, and proceed to pace around the living room.

“Look, I came over because, uh, well.”

He ran his right hand through his hair, his left hand hitched at his belt. The sound of Patsy Cline singing wafted through the room as he turned.

“Well, I didn’t like how we left things earlier.”

“Mhmmm.”

George grunted, taking another swig of beer and holding the door open with the back of her bare foot. The strap of her her brown, A-line dress fell over her shoulder and she pulled it back up, fixing the loose bust that covered her small, modest bosom.

“Ok, apology accepted, you can go.”

Elvis raised his eyebrow and strode toward her.

“See, now that, that right there, is the problem. I come over to patch things up and you get all nasty. Like I was tha only one, uh, the only one spoutin’ vinegar earlier.”

His hands found their way to her hips, and rolled over them. George shivered at the warm murmur of his voice.

“Why is it so hard for you to just be nice to me? To just be a nice girl?”

George felt the cool of her beer bottle as it hung heavy in her right hand, her eyes flittered up to Elvis’ where he hovered over her, pushing her against the open, apartment door she had been so hasty to send him out of thirty seconds ago.

“But I’m not a nice girl, Mr. Presley.”

She lowered her yes, turning to the right.

“Why even pretend.” She whispered.

Elvis leaned forward.

“Hmmm."

His thumbs rolled up and down the sides of her belly like slow, small window wipers clearing away the doubt and hesitancy that tightened her stomach.  His lips wavered over hers as he muttered into her cheek.

“How many times I gotta tell you to call me Elvis?”

He leaned in closer, lips just above her skin as she closed her eyes and a moan escaped her mouth. Elvis tightened his grip at her waist.

“Mr. Presley is my daddy.”

He laid his lips softly over her, as he smooshed into them awkwardly, tenderly, taking several clumsy tackles until they settled over hers and then gently crushed into her. All George could hear were the sloppy clicks of air echoing between their lips as she closed her eyes and felt his mouth press onto hers. His hands traced further down her sides and his tongue gently teased the entrance of her mouth.

George pulled back, panting, and pushed Elvis into the apartment, setting her beer on top of the bookcase by the door. He wiped his mouth, an apologetic expression forming as he started to talk.

“Oh man, I’m sorry, I , uh, I didn’—”

George put her finger to his mouth and pulled himto her.  Elvis’ eyes lit up as he opened his lips over it and George pushed her finger inside his mouth, tingling with electricity as it grazed against Elvis’ teeth. She saddled closer, tilting her chest into his, lifting her self closer to his face. He inhaled with a shudder, hands stroking her waist, eyes closed, his lips more forceful now and she groaned as she met his tongue with hers. Elvis caught George as she tripped backwards and cupped her bottom cheeks, carrying her to the couch. Her arms wound around his neck and she peppered his face with sweet, light kisses.

He plopped down laughing as she straddled over his lap, exploring his neck with her mouth while her fingers grasped at the back of his head, hair, shoulders. Elvis hands roamed over the top of George’s brown cotton dress, slowly pulling it up as his thumbs trailed over the white panties he found there, roving over her thighs and around to caresses her buttucks. The way she looked down and blushed made Elvis’ cock twitch and she bit her lip when she felt it. Looking into his eye’s with devilish intent, George arched her eyebrow and slide down to the carpet to nestle herself between Elvis’ legs. His reached down to stop her eager hands, eyes narrowing as he shook his head.

“Uh uhhhhhh,  you’re a nice girl, nice girls don, uh, well, nice girls don do that. Ain’t gonna let ya do something you gonna regret tomorrow morning.”

Elvis took her hand up, and kissed the bottom of her palm as George surged up taller on her haunches to kiss him back, her fingers caressed his neck as she moaned a whiny please into his mouth.

“Pleasseeee. This. This is my favorite thing.”

She kissed him, freeing her right hand from his grasp, and then dipping down to nuzzle against his hardened length.

“C’mon….uh…goddammit honey… fuck.”

He breathed in, opening his eyes to still her with a grip to her chin.

 “You really wanna… wanna see ‘im, huh?”

George nodded, and bit her lip. A crooked grin spread over Elvis’ face as he shook his head again, and undid his belt,  lifting up as he unzipped and pulled his pants down, his smile widening as George smiled coyly, waggling her eye brows and then leaning in to lightly kiss his foreskin. Elvis tilted his head back at the sensation, and thrust his hips closer to George’s face as she pressed her lips over the head, slowly gliding down as Elvis’ tip emerged from his foreskin.

He groaned out, and she giggled into the pink head of his penis. He opened his eyes and looked down, hand moving down to run his fingers through the side of her hair.

“What’s so funny, huh, lil girl?”

George savored the way his quizzical expression changed from amused to almost terrified pleasure as her lips popped off.

“You. The noises you make. I find them—” she dove back down, plunging farther as she finished her sentence with a mouth full of Elvis. “He-war-ee-ousss.”

Her response didn’t really register with him, as he sunk back into the couch cushions at the charged, blissful surge of George’s mouth up his cock, his fingers threading through the left side of her hair. Elvis bucked into her mouth as her lips met his base, and he hit the back of her throat. She smiled inward because she could tell he was trying to hold his hips still so as not to press to far in and gag her. His fingers were soft, and his mouth ushered forth a mantra of sweet “oh gawds,” as George sucked back and forth, her tongue darting to swirl around the edge, then she pulled off to catch her breath, looking up into Elvis’ sweet, grateful dopey smile. George beamed back, maintaining eye contact as she plunged down again with a fervent thirst, her cheeks hollowing with determination as she flattened her tongue beneath his cock, swallowing it in long, slow strokes, sinking down over him and relishing the needy, almost shocked look in his eyes as she throbbed up and down, his hand lightly following in her hair. His moans became louder, and George quickened her pace, thrusting her chest forward to delve further, harder, softer with each successive delicious movement downward. Elvis gripped her hair, looking down.

“Hey baby, heyyy, Immaa - Immma ‘bout to explode, hmmmm? ahhhhh”

George nodded, and groaned as her mouth worked its way down faster, sucking in with heightened, electric anticipation until she heard him cry out and felt the spasm of Elvis’ pulsating into her mouth. She swallowing, sloppily, as she rotated up and down, holding him at his waist for balance until he stilled, his hand caressing her cheek up and down. She settled back and leaned into his thigh, looking up at a goofy, crooked smile under eyes half lidded in contentment.

************************************************************************

It was 11 a.m. when Elvis awoke to Billy’s hand on his shoulder, bewildered and uncertain where he was. He made eye contact with his cousin, taking in how the furnishings of George’s bedroom looked in the morning (technically it was still morning).

Elvis blinked, unlike Billy, he didn't know what time it was, or why his cousin was there, or where the occupant of the apartment was.

“Heh, uh, hey there, Bill, what’s - uh - what’s the idea?”

Billy gulped, this was not the most embarrassing situation he had ever been in. Not by far. So he smiled, and looked around, beginning to gather up Elvis pants, socks and shoes, which were carefully folded and stacked on the cedar chest at the end of the bed.

“Uh, hey, man, uh Joe’s here. Sonny and Alan too. We’re, uh, all paid up, ready to head out? I brought ya some coffee.”

Elvis sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“Uh, wait, what, uh, what about the car?”

Billy looked back out to the living room as Elvis stood and put his pants on.

“Um, its ready, actually.”

Elvis looked up from where he was rolling his sock over his foot.

“What?”

“Uh, yeah, Maude, um, Miss Morgenstern, that is, well, um, she said her sister must have gotten up and been working on it from four or five this morning ‘fore she lit out for Carson City.”

Elvis started buttoning up his shirt.

“Carson City?”

Billy coughed and straightened his own shirt.

“Uh, yeah, Miss George, um. Well, guess she had to go pick up some auto supplies or sumpthin’ like that. Gosh, huh, girl mechanic, can’t believe it, right? Maybe those little hands give ‘em an advantage?”

He gulped again as he met Elvis’ disappointed stare.

“Yeah, erm, um. Anyhow, she’s not fixing to be back til late tonight.”

They were twenty minutes outside of Los Angeles when Joe and Sonny watched the white Buick Skylark pull over in front of them. Jumping out of the black, Lincoln Contintential they were driving behind Billy and Elvis,  Sonny walked up the passenger side of the car and leaned over the rail.

“Sup boss?”

Elvis gripped the steering wheel, then lifted his right hand to fix his yachting hat.

“Goddamit, what do ya think Son, Billy left my goddamn toiletry bag back at that goddamn motel in the middle of goddamn nowhere. Gonna have to go back.”

Billy started to interject, saying, “I double, triple checked and we didn—” but was met with a swift elbow to the ribs.

Sonny clenched his fists as he walked back to Joe, asked for all the money in Joe’s wallet, and handed it over to Elvis, before watching the Skylark make a three point turn and head back along the road into the powder blue sky behind them.

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Many thanks to my fellow players @missmaywemeetagain @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @whositmcwhatsit