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from-memphis-with-love · 30 days

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Gambling on Your Love - Ch. 4

Summary: A revealing photograph stokes rumors about Elvis and Francesca's romance and an unexpected visitor leads to misunderstandings. on set mishaps continue, making Frannie believe the set is cursed. Seeking solace, Frannie and Elvis escape to a mountain cabin, where they momentarily evade the public eye and confront their feelings in seclusion. But… is someone watching?

Want to catch up? Read chapters one, two, and three.

Word count: 8,900 Warnings: Trust issues; sexual content; privacy invasion; use of alcohol; mental and emotional stress.

The dress was one of a kind. The studio didn’t actually own the rights to it; it was personally borrowed from Givenchy’s collection. Designed for Audrey Hepburn, it had never graced the big screen due to a scene cut. Swarovski crystals were intricately adorned across the breast, shimmering distractingly. The dress demanded attention in every shot and was perfect for the duet scene.

Although things often required multiple takes, Francesca was determined to nail this scene with as few retakes as possible. As beautiful as the dress was, wearing it was a challenge due to the uncomfortable and unbreathable whalebone corset. However, perhaps because she had been eating lightly recently, the dress fit her better this time, feeling more giving. As she was being laced up, Francesca heard a stitch pop, and the dressing room fell silent. Everyone held their breath, listening intently, but the silence was soon interrupted as the lacing continued until she was all fixed up.

Frannie looked at herself in the mirror; the reflection was stunning. She gave a twirl, practically abuzz with anticipation for the final touch-up of her hair. Although her skin was sensitive—having developed an allergy to the previous makeup—there were no worries now. A doctor had warned her of such a possibility during a "particularly immunocompromised" spell. Following another small flare-up, her makeup foundation was changed to a different formula, and she had experienced zero problems since.

Taking a step forward, she stumbled as the base of her heel broke off. Her ankle twisted painfully, but it wasn’t sprained. She stood still for a second, stunned by her near fall and yet another mishap. It was just another drop in the bucket. She tried not to let it bother her as wardrobe staff rushed her another pair of shoes. Things were going well, and she wasn’t letting anything get to her.

Elvis had flooded her changing room with roses. Her ears would be sparkling with gems if she weren’t in costume. Gifts seemed to be his courting language, along with everything else he brought to the charm table.

As she made her way to the stage, her heart fluttered upon seeing him. Their eyes met instantly and did so every day, their gazes consuming one another. Their affection remained a well-kept secret; they refrained from public displays of affection. Well, at least nothing that could be misconstrued as more than the typical, harmless Presley flirtation. To the wider media, that was simply how Elvis behaved with all the ladies.

In one instance, a photograph captured his hand possessively cupped on her upper arm, his head turned towards her. In the picture, a part of a series submitted by fans depicting the crew relaxing outside the studio, Frannie was tucking away a stray strand of hair and someone was doing “bunny ears” behind Eddie’s head. But it was Elvis, caught in the act of staring at her, his face calm and lips curled into a slight smile, who stole the scene.

They had another hot date planned for tonight. This time, she was finally taking her bike out of storage to cruise the scenic back roads. It was meant to be just a quick trip before he went to the movies later with the boys.

Elvis had even offered her space in his garage, saying she was free to come and go whenever she pleased. This arrangement suited her better than leaving the bike in her own parking spot, where she was paranoid that someone might steal it.

Feeling the wind smooth over her as the road unfurled like a black ribbon was a dream. She was almost beside herself with excitement, and one of the only people in whom she could confide her overwhelming enthusiasm and budding happiness was her big sister. However, Connie was reserved in her pleasure about Frannie’s choice in men. Unimpressed by Elvis Presley’s acclaim, she asked where they had gone on their first date and how the night had gone. Here, Frannie had to tread carefully to avoid scandalizing her sister and breaking her heart with the full truth.

Well, if you must know, Con, Mr. Presley and I had a bit of what I like to call Everything But.

Lights beaming and cameras rolling, Frannie put her hand in his. Their knees touched as the music, played from a recording mockup of the instrumentals, filled the air. It was brassy, jazzy, and swinging. Elvis had been practicing his moves; he wasn’t looking at his feet, peering for cues, or far off in thought, trying to remember his choreography. He was looking at her, steadfast, grinning.

She recognized him at once as the proficient performer he was. He mirrored her every move. When she dipped, he followed; during the somber, talkier lulls in the song, he chased her, burning with an unquenchable passion that translated oh so effectively onto the screen. She knew they nailed it even before Cassandra called "cut."

“That’s perfect!” Cassandra cheered, slapping the wooden arm of her chair. “Beautiful. Beautiful, my darlings.” She leaned over when a cameraman motioned for her attention.

Elvis was breathing harder, really worked up. “You’re fantastic, Frannie.” It almost sounded like a concession, like something he finally gave in to believing. It shouldn’t vindicate her as much as it did hearing it from him. She wasn’t striving for his approval—or anyone else’s for that matter. Except her own. But damned if that wasn't a good feeling.

They were electric.

The cameras were still on, and they transitioned to the next scene, where they'd be running through the casino while security chased after them. She was dreading running in these heels, but she'd prepared for this, jogging up and down her apartment steps.

Elvis ran ahead of her, their hands linked together. Jake wasn't leaving Josephine behind. He finally realized they belonged together; fate had led them to this moment. Their journey only seemed too good to be true because disappointment had been their constant companion. But now, they had found each other, and that's all that really mattered.

They rounded the corner of the slots, extras engrossed in dropping coins into the machines, paying almost no mind to the fleeing couple being pursued by a group of armed officers. The next scene, their getaway, would be filmed tomorrow. In it, Josephine and Jake would apprehend—or rather, borrow—a carriage horse and disappear into a parade.

But before they could close out filming for the day, Frannie stumbled. Her heel snapped clean off, rolling her ankle painfully. She hissed, her knees buckling and slamming against the carpeted ground.

"Frannie!" Elvis lifted her up, righting her dress, flinching slightly. "Oh, your poor dress."

Frannie followed his concerned gaze, seeing the entire right seam of her dress split clean open from her hip to her underarm. It clung by a webbing of threads and a wish. Beads slipped free from the stitching and she watched them glint before disappearing underneath the slot machines.

Cassandra gasped audibly, cursing under her breath. "Shit."

Wardrobe was on set like paramedics, racing to her side with emergency sewing kits in their pockets for moments like this—except it was clear this was no simple quick fix.

“Oh my god,” one muttered shakily, brow sweating instantly with needle and thread between thumb and forefinger. Hesitant, the young man stopped. “I can’t. It’ll only damage the dress further. We must send it back for repairs.”

There was an uneasy quiet among the present crew. Cassandra had called in a favor on this one.

“I’m not even sure how it happened,” Frannie explained, gingerly touching the split seam. “It wasn’t that tight.”

“The fabric isn’t torn. It actually looks like the threading just came loose. But it’s gold and there’s no way I’m plunging acrylic into that marvelous silk.” He withdrew apologetically with a shrug. Frannie inhaled, head canting, palms lightly slapping her thighs.

“Well, I suppose that’s that, then.”

Elvis laughed. “You know, I really liked you in that dress.” Always the cushioner with something fond to say. He helped her keep her balance while she undid her other heel. Inspecting the one that’d broken, she couldn’t tell if it had been tampered with or not. Perhaps it’d just been a coincidence.

There was another hitch in the filming process, although this one only lasted a few days. As a child, she remembered her mother telling her that both good and bad things often come in threes. The dress had arrived from Givenchy to her delight. He'd had a good laugh upon hearing about her wardrobe malfunction, and her bike had been delivered and was now safely stored in her apartment's parking garage. And, to top it all off, her agent was in town!

Dominick showed up to her door, knocking musically with a souvenir from his trip to Germany and many photos to share.

“I know you love these little chocolates. Marie made me buy enough to fill a second carry-on bag.” He laughed, handing her a case of the mouth-watering smooth chocolate that she had been dreaming about since his last trip a year ago. She adored it when he brought her things. His wife, Marie, was such a delight, always looking out for her on a personal level. Apparently, it was at Marie's suggestion that Dominick took such a shining to her.

But something was amiss. She could sense unspoken tension in her agent’s tight smile, his hands shoved into his pockets. He raised a foot and leaned back, attempting to appear casual when he began, “Francesca, there’s something I think we should talk about.”

Without looking up from her box of sweets, mesmerized by the pretty shiny foil and the glossy bonbons in heart-shaped cutouts, she popped another one into her mouth and answered cautiously, “Oh?”

“You’re not in any trouble.”

“Well, I’d hope not,” she laughed, already anticipating where this conversation was heading. His eyes kept flickering around the room, as if magnetized, with pools of worry reflecting the swirls of red roses.

“Of course, of course. You know, as your agent, of course,” he began. Oh, how he loved touting that title. He adjusted his tie with a smirk. For such a successful big-shot living in Manhattan, he was quite the cheeseball. “I’m worried that you and a certain someone might be getting a little too close for comfort.”

She wasn't about to walk right into whatever sticky trap he had laid out. Unashamed of where her heart had decided to find its fill, she casually massaged cold cream into her face. "Hmm, I’m close to lots of people all day, Dominick. It's cramped on this set at times, but we make the best of it."

“C’mon, Frannie. The parking lot calls to let me know you shipped your old bike out, a paparazzo catches you and Elvis rolling up on his motorcycle to a very confused valet at an upscale restaurant—"

Frannie gasped, but before she could say anything, ask who, when—she hadn’t even seen a flash—Dominick held up his palm to stop her short. She thought they’d kept it casual enough. Had she been holding a little too closely to his waist? That’s how any passenger ought to ride!

“I can see the cogs turning. But trust me, I paid to have that tucked into my pocket instead. Not that it’s the most scandalous headline. Helmet-wearing date arrives at fancy dinner with Elvis Presley. I don’t think anyone can even tell that it’s you. But I want you in control of what gets out. I want you to want what gets out. And something tells me this ain’t it.”

He passed her the photo in question. It was innocent enough. Her, disguised by the helmet and a chunky jacket. Only her lean legs and heels on display, and her hair peeking out.

“Are you sure this is the only photo they managed to take?” She wouldn’t mind having a memento of that night.

“Nope. You can never be sure. But if this was the one photo the snoops wanted to sell to the papers, I’m betting they don’t have any bigger guns loaded.”

She didn’t know what to say. “Did you come all this way just to give me some chocolate and to save my skin?”

He always looked like he was just barely restraining from tousling her hair. “You’re a good kid. My best one in fact, and I’m not just saying that ‘cause you make me the most money. You’re a once in a lifetime. A star plucked straight from the skies.”

He had such a confident gravitas in his words that she never forsook his advice. Not once had he steered her wrong. Every move had been calculated to spear her towards a life of excess. Thanks to his hands, she wanted for very little.

“Thank you, Dominick.” He was like a father to her. Maybe she wanted him to rough up her hair a bit, chuck her chin and call her a good kid again. She wasn’t planning on tearing up.

He hugged her tight, patting her back with his big bear hands. “I’m going to be in town for a few days, so if you need anything, I’ll be staying on Fremont. That big, ugly hotel with the pink neon.” He shuddered. “And listen to me, not preaching as an agent to a client. I really want you to… take your time. With every decision you make. This isn’t some B-list background dancer, Frannie. He’s Elvis Freaking Presley. Everything he does is under a microscope. You know how many cameras I spotted outside those fences?" He reached around for his cigarette pack but she narrowed her eyes when he went to light it. "Alright, alright. Outside it is then."

He kissed her cheek hastily, and she huffed and gave him the other. "It's always a pleasure when you stop by."

"The pleasure is all mine, sweetheart. You take care now. And please don't go stumbling into any more poison ivy patches. You need to be careful on these damn nature trails anyway. What if a freaking bear gets you?"

Frannie couldn't tell him that someone had poisoned her. He would pull her from the film instantly, contact be damned. He would find a loophole or pierce the veil and rip his own in. So she'd turned the story askew a bit, putting her on a hike that ended in an ambulance ride to the hospital.

She couldn’t tell him about the myriad mishaps that had occurred on set. She was even starting to hear the superstitious whispers of a “cursed film” circulating. However, as the film neared the completion of its final scenes, press buzz would inevitably erupt. The closer they got to the release—with the press junkets, fan events, photo shoots, parties, and afterparties—the more overwhelming it felt. The prospect was enough to make her dizzy. While she was reluctant, she also looked forward to it. Dressing up and socializing was always enjoyable, but there was always a critical, unspoken precision required, even at these glamorous events. It was nerve-wracking to maintain the perfect smile, play with her words, and navigate increasingly personal questions. This time, everything would have a distinctive Presley flavor.

What was it like working with the King of Rock and Roll?

What’s your favorite Elvis Presley song?

Is there any truth in the rumors, Frannie? Are you going steady? Are you two in love?

Francesca shook her head, banishing those thoughts to the recesses of her mind. God, she needed a vacation. Maybe she should consider the one Elvis had suggested weeks ago. He mentioned having a cabin in the Tennessee mountains and was stunned when she said she’d never visited the state. She couldn’t go to Tennessee with him right now, but maybe they could rent a place up in the mountains somewhere close by. The thought of spending time with him, nestled in front of a roaring fire while the snow fell, made her toes curl.

Filming should be all but wrapped up by winter. She wanted to see her family for Christmas without interrupting things anymore. But with the way things were going, it was looking alright.

In the midst of her planning, Francesca's train of thought was interrupted by Elvis’s overbearing agent, Colonel Parker. She was not a fan of this man, by any stretch of the imagination. He was rude, abrasive, and controlling—so unlike Dominick in every way. It made her worry about the fairness of the deals he negotiated on Elvis’s behalf. She’d mentioned her concerns to Elvis before, and although he readily agreed that Parker was unpleasant, he also credited him with his current success. A point on which she staunchly disagreed.

“You’re here entirely on your own merit. Anyone can feed a golden goose, but it takes a special bird to lay that egg.” Was that… was that analogy working? He grinned.

“Colonel Parker’s golden goose, huh? Don’t go giving him any ideas, he might just lock me in a barn if he had the chance.” He hadn’t said that with as much humor, his tone biting. It seemed to bring him down, so Frannie left it at that, waiting for another chance to convince him to look for someone, literally anyone else to manage him. But Elvis was nothing if not loyal and couldn’t stand the thought of breaking the agreement he made with Parker so many years ago.

The hulking man thrust a bottle of champagne towards her. At first, she thought it might be a gift, until he barked, “Bring this to my boy. He’s awfully thirsty. Maybe you two can have a drink to celebrate things.” There was heavy insinuation in his voice. She looked at him askew while taking the drink carefully. It was some cheap stuff and she was ultimately confused why he was handing this to her and not someone from catering. It was warm, for heaven’s sake!

“Uh. Is there a reason you can’t give it to him yourself?”

The Colonel had an unreadable gleam in his eye. He was up to something, she just didn’t know what. “I want it to be a surprise.”

… Okay. He was starting to make her skin crawl, inching from coarse to creepy. She instinctively took a step back from him. Distancing herself. What a strange man. She couldn’t get away from him quickly enough. So she just bared him her most begrudgingly polite smile and said, “Thank you, Mr. Parker.”

She was so bothered by the encounter that she forgot to go by the luncheon table for ice and glasses. Maybe he would have a set in his room. Not that she was all too excited to drink astringent gas station wine, but maybe Elvis had requested it.

When she opened the door to his dressing room, the neck of the bottle slipped out of her grip, shattering loudly against the floor. There was a woman in Elvis’s lap, attempting to unravel his bowtie from his collar. Both of them looked at Frannie, stunned in the doorway.

“Frannie—”

“Save it. Just… save it.” She slammed the door, turning on her heels. Her throat was tight, her chest felt cold and constricted. Her gut was roiling. The walls seemed to get closer and closer the further she carried herself away from him.

“Chess! F-Frannie! It’s not what it looks like. You’ve got to believe me. I know it looks bad, I didn’t— hey!” He chased her, grabbing her wrist, but she didn’t look at him as she tore out of his grip.

“Get off of me, Presley.”

“Never.” He grated, snaring her again, this time, turning her to face him. She wouldn’t look at him, she refused to be swayed by his baby blue eyes and honeyed words.

“I can’t believe I thought you’d be different,” she scoffed, twisting away. But he wouldn’t let her go.

“No! If you leave now, you’ll never forgive me. I didn’t ask for her, I don’t even know her! She was hiding in my room, someone must have hired her as a surprise gift for me.”

Did he not hear the nonsense in his explanation? “Oh sure! And your surprise gift just tumbled into your lap.”

“She wouldn’t get off of me! I sat down to take off my shoes and there she was. Somebody let her in and she was just waiting. I didn’t even know she was in there. I swear! You walked in the second I was telling her to leave.”

“You really expect me to believe that?”

“You really think I’m ordering that kind of room service? During work? With you right up the hall? You’re crazy.”

“Don’t,” she pointed sternly. “Don’t call me that. You’re a real piece of work. You know that? Maybe put up more of a fight next time, if you actually want me to believe your flimsy excuses.” She hated that she felt sincerity in his voice and saw it in his pleading face when he drew her in.

“I’m not lying to you! I couldn’t even tell you that woman’s name.”

Frannie instantly thought of the Colonel, telling her with that harrowing glare that he wanted it to be a surprise. Had the prick set this up? Ordered a stripper to Elvis’s room? She couldn’t think. She needed space, she needed air.

But she couldn’t get away fast enough and all she could hear was Elvis pleading for her to listen to him as she tore out the studio, but not before turning to him and warning him in a hushed whisper, tears in her eyes, “Don’t make a scene. Please. Don’t follow me.”

Francesca Ferrara would not speak to him.

And still yet, Elvis was obsessed with her. She consumed his thoughts night and day. It didn't help that they worked together, attended cordial luncheons with the crew together, mingled at some of the same parties. Despite her devastating smile, he could see the rage burning behind her jewel eyes. She was still furious with him.

Approaching her at a soiree, she gave him the polite but chilly shoulder, taking photos with him and gracing her face with a well practiced but insincere smile.

"Frannie, you look amazing," he uttered in her ear when she retreated away from him. He wanted her warm and willing in his arms again. He wanted to drown in her perfume. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, but when the music slowed, and eyes were on them in anticipation to see if they would share a dance and make their coupling official, she gently departed from him.

It'd been two weeks since Frannie had really spoken to him. The irony of the whole thing is that the filming of Josephine and Jake's big fight took place over the next handful of days. Francesca's tempest rage and Elvis's desperation for her to listen to him made for a pretty dazzling show. Cassandra was on the edge of her chair, slapping her knee when the lead actress sprinkled in some improv insults that only he knew were for him.

"I thought you changed, Jake. But I guess that just makes us both fools."

He couldn't stand to see her so hurt, damn his own pain. He needed to soothe her, cradle her head against his chest. Write her a song. Put her in a song.

"I'm a better man because of you. And if that change isn't enough," he took her hand, placed it over his heart. "Then maybe we can keep at it. Because I'm really trying."

Frannie looked past the character, aware that he was speaking to her. She could feel his heart speeding up and perhaps even seizing when she retreated. He thought he could conceal his reactions, but she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of a visible response. Even he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for.

Principal filming was over and fall had come and gone in a flash. Elvis knew now from experience that editing was the real long haul. Sometimes films could be stuck getting pieced and re-pieced back together for years. But he had faith in Cassandra’s directing and in the editing crew she must have hand picked. It was time to relax and unwind. Francesca wasn’t antsy now, but she’d told him how important this film’s debut was to her. She no doubt had to be thinking about it now. Was she dreading it?

He knew this looked bad for him, but he wasn’t going to lose her through no fault of his own. He had no idea who that woman was or how she got into his dressing room. He simply sat down to take off his shoes and she surprised him, standing wordlessly in the corner of the room where he hadn’t noticed her before.

Without uttering anything substantial, she simply murmured canned responses. He hadn’t realized until now how much they disconcerted him. He felt disdain when she exclaimed, “I can’t believe I’m in Elvis Presley’s dressing room right now.”

Yeah, me neither! Now get out!

“Whoa! You’re—who? How did you—?” She straddled him in one swift motion, stronger than she looked, almost locking him in place. Her fingers fiddled with his bowtie and he pulled back. “No, no. Look. I’m sure you’re a lovely gal, but right now, I’ve got someone else—.”

“Aww, she sounds like a lucky girl.”

Then the door opened. Just like a sitcom. Just like a nightmare. His tongue was instantly tied. It felt like he was wading through knee deep water, chasing after her. He couldn’t remember if he’d thrown that near nude woman from his lap or if she’d gotten up on her own. All that he knew was that Francesca was in tears, leaving him behind as he pursued her, witlessly, not realizing that his lovelorn wailing could turn heads.

Rumors circulated on set that they were dating, but amidst the hectic filming schedule, almost no one had the time to substantiate those claims. Filming progressed at full speed, running smoothly for everyone except Elvis. He felt like he was seasick on a tiny boat while everyone else surged forward with ease.

The boys were all over his case, telling him to send her flowers. He’d already sent her dozens of bouquets, but she didn’t answer his calls—although she did accept his deliveries. Not another night of sitting and stewing, he was going to level with her. Even if she didn’t want to hear him, let alone see him.

He rode down to her apartment alone. He looked up at her window, the light beaming like a beacon for him to follow.

The concierge waved excitedly at him, cufflinks blinking as he buzzed him in. Elvis parsed some friendly conversation, but he was taking the stairs two and three steps at a time to reach her. His heart was pounding. What if she’d moved on? What if when she opened that door, and her beautiful face twisted into a frown, there was a man behind her shoulder? He couldn’t stomach the idea, it made his knuckles blanch, balling his fists so tight.

Elvis knocked once, twice, three times, cheery and light. He could see a shadow flicker underneath the door and listened as the latch fell. She asked, without opening, “Who is it?”

He responded, “You’ll never guess.”

The heavy pause that followed filled him with dread. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. It felt like minutes passed before he heard the kerplunk of her antique brass knob loosening. The door opened and his heart soared. She was enchanting. She smelled freshly of a shower, floral and sweet, her dark hair drying in glossy curls. Her body was wrapped in sheer pink silk, the sleeves of her nightgown poofy to match her bedroom slippers. This almost felt more intimate than seeing her naked.

“Frannie,” he breathed, regretting instantly he hadn’t brought flowers—but that’s what he spotted over her shoulder, a menagerie of colorful bouquets in harvest fall colors and muted pastels. She’d taken in every one of them.

“Elvis.” Her voice was still music to his ears. He hadn’t seen her in over a week and the dopamine rush he received now was intense. Taking a step towards her, his words just spilled out without reprieve.

“Frannie, I’m so sorry. I really meant it when I said that I’d changed. I never meant to hurt you. I swear, I don’t know who that woman was or how she got into my dressing room. I didn’t touch her.”

She held up her hand, but only to stop him from rambling in the hallway. “Elvis, come inside before the entire world hears you.” She hastily shut the door behind him and her cat darted to see who the new guest was, making pretzels between her legs and his intermittently. Sitting down on her settee, it was a great deal more comfortable than he’d imagined.

Francesca was in her copper lined kitchen, plucking a whistling kettle off the stove and getting out a second mug to match hers. Pouring them some tea, only then did she sit down to listen to what he had to say, her eyes full of anticipation. She wanted to hear him out. She needed to. It gave him so much hope.

“I can’t get your face out of my head. The way you looked at me, like I’d just…”

“Broken my heart?” Frannie scoffed, her tea rippling. She took a sip, letting it clink against her dish. She crossed her elegant legs and he was drawn to the dark shadow between her thighs. “Well, it certainly stung my femininity.” She admitted, but there was a twinge of shame.

“Frannie, you’ve gotta believe me. I don’t know who that woman was. I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

Frannie bowed her head, staring into her cup. She sighed. It pained her to admit it, but she’d been agonizing over the scene in her head for weeks. And, thinking about her interaction with Parker just before going to Elvis’ dressing room, there was an oily feeling in the pit of her stomach. She conceded, “Listen. I'm going to go out on a limb here and trust you, but just this one. I knew something wasn’t right. It all felt too…” She rolled her hands. “Too staged.”

He wholeheartedly agreed. “Yes! Like something out of a movie. You walk in, I don’t have time to explain before you storm out, catch a bus to some other town, to some other schmuck.”

“As opposed to the schmuck I have in front of me?” She smiled tentatively at him, and he could feel her ready to forgive, ready to pick things up where they left off.

"Do you forgive me?"

"Yes," her lips curled into a slight smile. "But do this again, Presley, and you're out."

"Never again. I-I swear it. I'll look through every nook and cranny for desperate blonde girls every time I enter a room," with endearing sincerity, he raised his right hand. "Scout's honor."

Frannie couldn't help but laugh. She truly believed he was innocent. “Would you believe me if I said I’m actually quite fond of one particular schmuck?”

“Oh?”

“Mhmhmh. You might have heard of him, really underground, not well known. Some kind of up-and-comer. I really think he’s going places though.”

Going places. That reminded him. “Let me take you somewhere nice, Chess. I want to take care of you. We can relax, unwind in a hot tub in the mountains. You can watch me split firewood and hunt a bear.”

God, to hear her laughter again. It was like medicine. A soothing balm. Why couldn’t they always be like this? At times, it almost felt like something wanted to pull them apart.

“You really wanna take on a bear, Elvis?”

“I’ll do anything if it gets you to say yes.”

Turns out he didn’t have to do too much other than be apologetic. Which, a younger, more hot-headed him would have stubbornly dug in his heels and absolutely refused. Because if he zoomed out, his focus was still on the mysterious fact that he had never invited another woman into his dressing room, let alone one that was almost naked. It was a strange feeling, apologizing for something he truly had no part in, but if there was something he could say to help ease her pain and help guide her back to him—he’d say it.

Now, he secured himself a vacation with the girl of his dreams and they were going to cruise there together on their bikes. But he had to take care of something first.

Elvis rolled up to the Marriott Parker had been staying in since coming to town. Parker didn’t like meeting for coffee or talking over lunch, he just wanted whoever he was ordering around to show up when he called. Not that Elvis could really go into a public setting without being noticed anyhow, but it was the principle of it, he supposed.

The Colonel was sitting in a chair by the slatted blinds, looking out at the families playing in the pool. When Elvis walked in, he turned around and smiled wide at his mega-famous client—his golden goose.

“Evening,” Elvis tried, almost instantly cut off.

“That girl isn’t good for you, my boy. She’s bad news. Bad news.” He took a puff on his cigar as he walked towards him. He liked closing the distance, steering him by the shoulder, holding onto it while he talked to him.

“We’re just having a little fun is all,” Elvis chuckled, raising his palms playfully. Path of least resistance.

“I think she wants more than just that with you.”

Elvis hoped. He wished. She just didn’t take him seriously yet.

He rolled his shoulders, shedding Parker��s hand. “I don’t mind what she wants. She’s a good girl.” He reiterated. Good. She was like a cool drink from the river. A fresh rain on scorched earth. She was everything he needed right now. A promise of something new, a wonderful time, a songbird laugh.

“I’ve seen it again and again. What do you think makes her any different than any other woman vying to have your baby in her? Could you imagine the influence a gal would hold over you if she had your child, Elvis?”

“Whoa, whoa. We haven’t even gotten to know each other like that yet. We’re taking things slow.”

“And that right there is what worries me the most. She wants you begging for it like a lap dog, so that when she shakes her hips you come running, salivating, barking at her beck and call.”

Elvis couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was like Parker had met someone else entirely.

“She’s nothing like that. And ‘sides, I-I can guarantee you that settling down with a couple of my brats is the last thing on her mind right now.” She was full of life and bursting with talent that she had to share with the world. She didn’t have time for the mundane yet. Although, if he let the bird fly over his head, the thought of Frannie round and rosy with his babe did scratch a primal itch. But that was neither here nor there. “I want to take her up to the mountains.” The cabin he had in mind belonged to a friend. It was a pale flame to the marvel of Graceland, but that’s just how he liked it. Reserved and private for a special moment like this.

Colonel Parker shook his head, offering a rare, paternal smile reminiscent of a dad who knew his advice wouldn’t be heeded. Elvis did want to see the good in the man, after all. Parker had gotten him this far. However, Frannie’s words echoed in his ears, insisting that he had arrived here solely due to his own talent and hard work. It wasn’t the Colonel up on stage, singing songs, rehearsing lines, or learning choreography.

“You’ll see, Elvis. That girl’s trouble.”

“I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

“I won’t be here. Going back to Memphis, getting out of this place.” He finished his cigar and put it out. Sucking his teeth, he tapped a stubby finger on the stack of papers on the table. “I’m working on a new deal for us. Something big. You’ll love it.”

Somehow, Elvis had the distinct feeling that the opposite was true.

Francesca mulled over her outfits for the dozenth time. Her tiny suitcase was packed tighter than concrete, compact as she could get it for her bike. She paid the concierge handsomely to come in feed her cat and keep poor Stella company while Frannie was away for the week.

She practically floated to her bike, gleaming and ready for a ride. The tank was full and now her bags were packed. Elvis told her to meet him at the Texaco just outside of town, at the lonely fourway.

Getting back on was like slipping on a bespoke dress. Her legs straddled the narrow frame of her Moto Guzzi. With a nudge, she kicked the stand back and up, listening to that chunky clink. The bones settled beneath her weight. She gripped the handles, feeling the old girl again, getting a sense of balance once more. She started up with a cough, the exhaust clearing pitch black before she really started to purr, thrumming power through her. She gave her a little gas and teased her down to the road, slipping onto the asphalt like ice. It was a smooth glide, wind coursing past her.

She’d forgotten how freeing, how invigorating it was to steer a bike through city traffic and emerge like a held breath being exhaled onto scenic backroads. The cars thinned until it was just her and the road. The sun was high in the winter sky, belying the cold that seeped through the cracks of her helmet and gear. She was shivering, but with equal excitement and cold as she neared the Texaco filling station before Elvis did.

Topping off her reserves and snagging some gum to chew on while she waited, she spotted him a mile down the road. A black jewel on the horizon, spearing his way towards her. His boys were following them in a Buick, but she didn’t care. She somehow knew that Elvis needed them every now and then and trusted that they’d make themselves scarce eventually.

He parked with flair, cutting a tight circle before kicking out the stand, leaving her running when he asked with that heart aching smile, “Ready to ride?”

Frannie smiled, then waved good-naturedly to his friends in their cars as they rolled to a stop.

As much as she’d adored holding close to his warm body, feeling the ridges of his muscles flexing as he throttled the bike or fed it some gas, to be beside him was like nothing else. They were like two wild horses, stampeding across trekked lands. For the first time in a long time, she could feel her worries leaving her, cast away into the wind and scattered into the brambles. Maybe she’d seen them littered here or there, but for now, she looked ahead with him.

The first few hours on the highway had been quite literally, a straight line. No turns, no stops, no intersections, just sheer highway for hundreds of miles. The terrain ebbed from low hilly prairie into wild forest. The road narrowed in the valley and they made another stop at a fill station. Frannie ran in to pay and couldn’t believe that out in the middle of a one stoplight town, she’d been recognized. The woman behind the counter reading a magazine with her oversized cat’s eye frames did a double take when she saw her.

“Blue blazes! Is that?! Are you! Francesca Ferrara?!” She slapped her hands on the counter, “I can’t believe it! You look even more beautiful in person! I had my husband tape all your late night showings. You were amazing on Carson! When I saw you carry a tune like that, dancing like that,” the woman fanned herself. “Honey, I knew you were going places. And now here you are of all places! I’m so happy I took another shift today!”

Frannie loved these sorts of interactions, but at the same time, she often didn’t know what to do with her hands. But the cashier handled that for her, passing her a China marker and a worn, old Ladies’ Home Journal. “Ignore that. Just sign wherever you’d like. My husband is not going to believe this.”

Elvis tooted his cycle’s horn playfully. Beep beep. The cashier looked up and hit a button behind the counter. “You guys can fill up on me. It’s my treat! You can have some candy and stuff if you want, too!”

Frannie politely declined, “You’re too sweet.” But she couldn’t let someone, especially a fan, do something like that. She passed her a 20 and told her to keep the change. She did cheekily snag a moonpie for Elvis.

“She sure seemed happy to see you,” Elvis laughed.

The roads leading to their destination served as a precursor to the convoluted, spaghetti-shaped hell of the mountain paths ahead. She had anticipated tunnels, and in this respect, the trip absolutely delivered. Elvis laid on his horn while cruising through them, and she tapped hers, delighting in the echoing whoosh that raced alongside them. However, as the roads began to carve sharp, arching circles, her nerves started to falter.

The ascent was slow and steady, with thin sheets of metal guardrail offering protection from a precipitous drop down the mountain face, a sight as beautiful as it was terrifying. Up here, the air was brisk, making her shiver with a mix of delight and chill. Many trees were bare, their leaves surrendered to the season, while steadfast evergreens showcased their triumph over the wintry conditions. The roads were salted, yet ditches were lined with piles of dirty snow. Occasionally, flecks of snow landed on the backs of her gloves, and she had to wipe a thin spray from her visor.

There were tight points where Elvis went on up ahead, unaware that she was nervously putting behind, trying her best to maintain speed and not look to her left where it was a deadly sheer drop. When a car sped past her in the opposite lane, she’d freeze.

But before long, they slipped back down the mountain and cut through the valley. A lovingly hand painted sign said, “Welcome to Home. Welcome to Mt. Charleston Village.” They were nearing the small village perched in the mountains, where the stunning views stretched on endlessly. The small town was quaint, lights already strung up on all the old Western-style buildings. She was dazzled with the coziness of the snowy, dirt roads humming beneath the bikes.

The townspeople were busily preparing for the grand end-of-harvest festival. Stands were being erected, and overripe, plump pumpkins pushed out for sale. Tables displayed an array of home-baked and handcrafted goods. Children played in the streets, steering their push cars with glee. As they rode by, a Mountie on horseback tipped his hat in their direction.

A river ran adjacent to the town, ambient babble singing in the background. They crossed a bridge and trekked out of town into more seclusion. The old trees made a canopy over the road, leaving them in cold shadow. She started to wonder how much further ahead it could be, and when they could stop and stretch their legs again. But no sooner had she acknowledged her butt going numb, did Elvis hike up his left arm and make a chopping motion.

That way.

His brake lights glowed and he slowed, churning a quick left turn into what looked like unassuming, overgrown woods. Frannie looked behind her to see his friends had turned the opposite way. They’d have privacy after all, just as she’d known.

Elvis stopped at a narrow clearing with a slick gravel driveway potted with puddles and slaggy snow. There were intentionally felled trees laying across to deter trespassers. He tried waving her away and doing it himself but at this point, she was fed up with being out in the cold and was raring to toss some wood in a fireplace and snuggle up underneath the furs.

A precarious mile still lay ahead, weaving through dense woods before opening up to a clearing. This expansive, creamy tract of land was dotted with trees, bordered by forests, and enclosed by a tall fence. Perched at the pinnacle of the estate, a cozy, dark, two-story cabin, roughly hewn and humble, stood as a silent observer of the serene surroundings. Its thin, single-pane windows and a skinny chimney, home to roosting crows, added to its rustic charm. Despite its antiquated exterior, the roof was in good shape, and the porch was free of holes. Cobwebs adorned every corner, and leaf litter was strewn about, attesting to the natural setting in which the cabin resided.

They gathered their bags and headed up the creaking steps. Elvis peered deep inside, hands cupped against a window.

“Making sure we don’t have any unexpected guests” he remarked, his eyes scanning the surroundings with practiced caution. With a gentle push, the door creaked open, revealing an interior that was a stark contrast to the rugged exterior.

Inside, lavish decorations adorned every corner, exuding a warm, welcoming aura. Antique fixtures gleamed softly under the muted lighting, casting an elegant glow that highlighted the exquisite Paiute blankets draped gracefully over the furniture. The shelves were cramped with memorabilia. There were guitars, deer, road signs and horseshoes tacked up on the walls, climbing up to the second story railing. It was quaint, like something out of a magazine.

Elvis did a walkthrough, checking the rooms for critters and thankfully coming up empty handed. The fireplace needed to be cleared and they busied themselves raking old coals and hauling dry firewood from the piles outside. They were musty but they readily burned, flames licking up the wood and catching a blaze that illuminated the cabin, painting dancing shadows along the walls.

For a moment they lingered in the presence of their hardwood, warming up their cold, pink fingertips and rubbing their chilly noses against one another.

"Let me get this hot tub going, and then we'll really be having a good time," he said with a smile. He helped her out of her coat and hung it beside the door. The sound of his steps echoing on the old wood filled the room, a melody she found oddly comforting.

Outside, birds were engaged in a harmonious conversation. She could see that they had just barely outpaced the impending snowfall. Flakes, lighter than feathers, wafted down gracefully, settling on the fallen leaves like a delicate blanket. She stood there, utterly mesmerized.

Elvis had disappeared outside to remove the jacuzzi cover. Suddenly, she heard an uncollected shout of surprise, followed by aggravated squeaks and chitters, and the unmistakable sounds of frantic scratching. Curiosity piqued, she poked her head outside onto the back porch. There, she found Elvis glancing cautiously into the basin, the lid held firmly in his hand. He caught her gaze and gave her a reassuring thumbs-up.

“All good. Just had to evict a couple of stowaways.” He watched as two racoons barrelled into the treeline, disappearing into the brush. After a thorough cleaning, he let the tub fill up with piping hot water. The heater groaned to life, clanking loudly before shuddering out gallons of heated well-water. The steam was inviting them with little furls, telling them to come hither.

It was strange in the best of ways, being so comfortable with him that she actually forgot social conventions. She was already stripping down to her undergarments before she realized they were both almost nude. But that didn’t stop her—it invigorated her. Coupled with the thrill of the cool winter air kissing her as she stepped out onto the elevated porch, she was trembling.

He gave her his hand, helping her into the water and following right behind. The tub was snug. For them both to fit inside, she had to sit between his legs, with her back against his strong chest. The heat suffused her instantly, better than any blanket, like syrupy sunshine poured onto her skin. She was melting into him.

“Can’t beat a view like that,” he sighed, drawing her closer.

When she peered out onto the endless swathe of trees rising and falling with the mountains, she was inclined to agree. She wondered if they could always be like this. But for now, she was going to enjoy a good thing while he lasted. Peering up at him, she pressed her lips to his, feeling him smile, feeling him give her more of himself. He was always ready to reciprocate, eager and willing. It made her desirous to feel so wanted.

Everything seemed so far away. She pretended as they rode into town that maybe this is where they lived. Maybe she wasn’t an actress, but a local waitress or someone on the town council. Elvis was just another guy, another handsome, hardworking mountain man (minus the beard of course). Would the local bar be where they met and had their first conversation? Would this gazebo under the stars be where they shared a first kiss?

She put her hand in his, thankful for the light snowfall that obscured them from prying eyes. Elvis was bundled up with a scarf covering his chin, a hat on his head, and dark sunglasses over his eyes, and surprisingly, no one had recognized him.

They were just two people, having fun with each other. Drinking locally brewed spiced apple cider and eating shortbread cookies rolled out by the town baker. She could actually see herself settling down in a little place like this.

A flash out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, but when she looked, nothing was there.

“Which one do you think Red’ll like more, this ornament with Santa on it riding a Harley or— or,” he held up a rock on a string. “Or this rustic rock ornament.” The elderly shopkeep chuffed a laugh at that one, telling him to turn it around and see there was a snowflake painted on the other side.

Frannie had a laugh, saying, “Let’s just get both.”

She bought a candy apple that was nefariously inviting and when it got stuck on her teeth, he doubled over holding his gut while she slurred, telling him, “Thop it!! Ith not funny!” But his laughter insisted otherwise.

Elvis warmed his hand in hers, because although she’d suggested he wear his riding gloves, he insisted that he would be fine. But now he was laced tight with her fingers, bundling up tighter in his coat. It was much colder in the mountains.

“Hey, want to get a ride?” Elvis pointed towards a horse drawn carriage, plumes of steam coming out of the steed’s nostrils. The tiny two seater was a lacquered green, painted many times over in thick layers. Bells and garland adorned the filigree wood. When they approached, the horse excitedly stamped his front feet and gently tugged at the bit. He took off, keeping a quick canter through the town. It was drawing to the end of the festival, and many of the attendees were now snug and warm in their homes.

Francesca leaned against Elvis’s shoulder, her arm loop in his, their hands still interlocked. She might have fallen for him after all. Another flash, but they were passing too swiftly for her to see anything other than bright street lamps. This town was charming.

Riding hurriedly back to the cabin, the snow really intensified. Inside the inviting, honeyed glow of still warm embers, he stirred the flames up, feeding more wood into it. When it was warm enough to take their coats off, Elvis reached forward, but stopped midway. “You’ve got snow on your hair and on your lashes, honey. It looks like powdered sugar.”

The remark made her cheeks flush. He could notice the more endearing things.

They hadn’t made love yet. Their bodies had coupled together naked on the couch with intimate intentions, but he hadn’t penetrated her that snowy night. He held onto her, and heaven help her did she fit against him perfectly. On their sides, watching the flames flicker and dance.

Elvis massaged her breasts, thrusting his erection between her thighs, bringing her to orgasm with a masterful ease. He pressed down on her clit, grinding slowly, stringing out her moans with languid strokes.

Francesca couldn’t remember making her way to the luxurious bedroom and beneath the heavy bedspread beneath the wooden candelabra chandelier, but that’s where she woke up in silver morning sun, to the sounds of birds and breakfast, to the scent of coffee and eggs.

“What can’t you do?” She asked while drinking deeply. And he could make a good cup.

“Remember to get lighter fluid apparently. Want to come into town with me, see what we can get up to?”

She couldn’t be happier to join in on these trivial domesticities. Airing out the sheets that’d been folded in the linen closets, watching him chop wood, his back flexing with every mighty swing, helping him clean up after breakfast and dressing warmly together for the cold.

On the way out the door, Frannie saw something in the distance. Maybe it was a person or maybe it was just a deer. She couldn’t be sure as it disappeared in the woods.

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