Cat in a Jeweled Jumpsuit (53 page)

“
Maybe if Elvis doesn't call any more, you won't
have to sit out here at midnight listening to your
car
radios," he joked, signing as fast as he could.

“
Oh, no. We'll still be here for you," they
promised
in a ragged chorus.

They were fans. They would always be there. For
somebody.

Chapter 51

It Wouldn't
Be the Same Without You

(A song
Elvis recorded during an early Sun
session, without much success)

Temple's phone rang eight times before she answered it,
and
it was after noon.

Matt
was too weary to have much imagination after a
sleepless night haunted by Elvis clones, but he couldn't
help wondering if Max Kinsella was back in town,
keep
ing Temple up late.

She sounded rushed when she finally picked up the
phone.

“Hell-oo."

“Matt.
I wondered if you have a moment for career consultation."

“Now?”

He felt like the ceiling had rained a bucket of ice-
water. "No, of course not. Not now. Whenever—"
"Matt,
don't be so darn eager to oblige. You sound a
little
... worried. I'm sorry. It's been wild. Why don't
we go to lunch, or
something."

“What
would the 'or something' be?"

“Something
fun. I know! We could drive out to Three
O'Clock
Louie's at, ta-dum, Temple Bar. I've been
wanting to patronize the old guys. This is as good an
occasion as
any."

“
But you'll have to drive, as usual, and it's me who
wanted to get together. I've really
got to find some free
time to buy a car."

“
Agreed. I could go with you . . . except I've forgotten
all the tips on car-buying, it's been
so long since I got
the Storm."

“Maybe
I'll just get a Saturn."

“Sounds
fine, but kind of ... predictable."

“
Sony. Why don't I be unpredictable now? Any rea
son
we can't take the Vampire out to the lake?"

“
It's just as far away as my leggings and fifties
ankle
boots. I can use Electra's
'Speed Queen' helmet. I've
been dying to."

“Okay!
Twenty minutes?"

“
Make it fifteen. I'm hungry, and there's nothing
like a nice, cold, bouncy ride to enhance an appetite."
Yeah, Matt
thought, hanging up.

Suddenly,
it was an expedition.

He felt a little like Elvis going for a motorcycle
thrill-ride, putting on his suede half-boots, his faux sheepskin
jacket, and getting out his leather gloves. Picking up
Temple,
who was perky enough to pass as one of Elvis's fifties starlets and even
resembled a smaller, less sexy
Ann-Margret,
who had shared Elvis's love for motor
cycles and had apparently shared a
deep love with Elvis before he had begun the final, slow spiral downward.
Ann-Margret never opened a show from then on with
out a huge floral tribute in the shape of a guitar
from
Elvis ... except for the show she opened the night of
August 15, 1977. No floral guitar, no Elvis after
August
16, in Memphis, or anywhere
else ... except here and there and everywhere, like that "demmed elusive
Pim
pernel" of
Scarlet
Pimpernel
fame. The actress-singer
dancer's
hair had been a heavier, sultrier red than
Temple's, which was even now being dampened by the
sleek silver
bubble of Electra's helmet.

“Speed
Queen" read the cursive letters above the dark
visor. The play on words was a late-middle-aged
woman's jest and defiance to the world, but Elvis
had
been a Speed King in every worst
connotation of the
phrase. And that had not been a joke but a tragedy.

Why
couldn't he get a long-dead man out of his mind?
Matt wondered. Maybe it wasn't a dead man he was
trying to
exorcize.

“
Did you bring gloves?" he asked Temple.
"It gets icy
at seventy miles an hour without heating.”

She pulled something that resembled wooly udders
from her dressy white leather jacket pockets.
"Courtesy
of a Minnesota girlhood. Will they
do?"

“Are
you sure you can spare the time?"

“
Stop being such a Guilty Gus!" Temple stomped
a
toy boot heel on the shed's
concrete floor. "I've been
dying to travel on this thing. Let's do
it."

“You
had a ride once before."

“
But we didn't go anywhere. For a purpose. Not a
whole
round trip.”

She was like a kid; her promised outing had to be the
whole enchilada. Matt smiled, unlocked the shed, and
rolled
the massive machine into the clear winter sunlight. The flat, bright light
ignited the Hesketh Vampire's fluid
silver
lines, reminding him of the slanted, silver letters
he scrawled on
photographs nowadays.

“
Awesome." Temple waited for him to mount the
cycle, then struggled to hop on behind him. The seat had
been "cut down" for Electra, but Temple
was a lot
shorter than their landlady.

He felt her hands curl into
the side seams of his jacket,
donned his own,
unlabeled helmet, revved up the lion's-roar motor, and kicked off. They slid
into smooth, chill
motion.

Electra, being a solitary rider, had never invested in
helmets with walkie-talkies built in. Silence was en
forced. The bumpy side streets evened into the entry
ramp
to Highway 95; soon they were sweeping past the
clogged lanes of the city onto the asphalt that slashed
through
the Nevada desert.

He couldn't know if Temple was nervous, or cold, or
having
a ball.

He knew the machine enough to enjoy the ride now,
though. And he was actually reluctant when they pulled
onto the smaller access road to rattle up the deliberately
rutted
dirt road to Three O'Clock Louie's.

Various
vehicles were scattered like dice around the rough-hewn restaurant building:
ersatz Wild West on the
shores of a lake the
brilliant color of a London blue
topaz.
He'd looked at those stones when buying a Christ
mas present for Temple,
deciding on the black opal cat
necklace
instead. Opals and black cats had lived up to
their unlucky reputation that time, Matt thought grimly;
his gift came too late, after Temple's Christmas
recon
ciliation with Max Kinsella.

He felt the idling bike lighten as she jumped off, then
he shut off the motor, kicked down the stand, and let it
tilt
into silence and stillness.

“
Gosh. I'm still vibrating!" Temple shook her
gloved
hands. "I've never had my
teeth chatter from motion
before, not cold."

“You
didn't like it."

“
I loved
it. Like being in a blender. Makes me want
to eat a hamburger
with onions on it and a brown beer."
"A brown beer?"

“
Yeah, you know. That manly stuff that comes in
long-necked
bottles. Let's hustle inside.”

Matt shrugged and followed
her in.

Two steps outside the door they picked up a big black
cat
with a gray muzzle.

“
Hi,
Three O'Clock!" Temple turned to Matt. "The
critter the place
is named after. Isn't that a scream? A
name like Louie's and he looks like his
grandfather!”

Three O'Clock humped his back, whether in anger or
as
the prelude to a leg-rubbing it was hard to tell.

“
I don't know if he's allowed in," Temple
said, hes
itating in the open wooden screen door.

“
Of
course he's allowed in." An elderly man for
whom the phrase
"old coot" had been invented, down to
the handlebar
mustache, leaned out to hold the door open
for man, woman, and
cat. "Come on, Miss Temple Barr.
We owe you lunch on the house."

“
I can't think what
for. We wanted to add to the res
taurant's customer base."

“And
this fellow is—?"

“
Matt Devine, one of Electra's most valued
tenants."
"After yourself," the guy said with a bow.

“
This is Wild Blue Pike, one of the restaurant own
ers.”

Matt, gloveless again, shook a gnarled hand that gave
no
quarter.

“
Cold hands, warm heart," Wild Blue commented,
shaking
his fingers gingerly.

“
Sorry. We motorcyled out. I guess my fingers are
too
cold to know their own strength."

“No
problem. I like a hearty shake, and a hearty lunch. You ready for a
Louieburger, Miss Temple?"

“A
Louieburger! What's that?"

“
Sourdough
bun, almost a pound of prime lean
beef with jalapeno cheese, Worcestershire sauce, and
cayenne-peppered onion rings."

“
Wow. Lead us to it.”

The tables were wood with inset tiles, the chairs heavy
to
match, and sported woven-rush seats and backs.

Wild Blue led them to a corner near a roaring
mesquite-wood
fireplace.

“
This is neat," Temple
said as she sat in the chair Wild
Blue held
out for her, and then pushed way under the
table, as if for a child. "I can't believe I saw this place
in
the making, a sawdust palace."

“
All good things gotta start with a pile of elbow
grease,"
Wild Blue said, slapping plastic encased menus before them.

“
Forget the menu. It's a Louieburger for me."
"Me,
too," Matt said.

“
All the trimmings?"

“
The full Louie," Temple responded. "And
the
brownest beer you have.”

Wild
Blue frowned. "You like dark ale?"

“No,
but I'm suited up and ready to ride.”

After Wild Blue left, Matt regarded her. "You're in
a
feisty mood."

“
I'm
probably in the same state you are: my brain is
weary and my
spirit is wilted. Desperate times take des
perate measures. Bad-for-you food is
the answer!"

“
I never thought of
advising that over the radio. These
guys should buy a spot on the
Midnight Hour."

“Tell
'em."

“That's
not my job."

“It's
your show."

“No,
it isn't. It's his."

“His?
Ohhh, your guest celebrity."

“I
think he's made his last appearance."

“Really?
Why?"

“
We had a real go-round the night before last. I
pushed him on all the issues. I feel bad about
that."
"You were too hard on him?”

Matt
shrugged out of his jacket. The fire was hot. "No.
I feel
sad about it, that's all. We . . . he reached a kind
of closure. I think he's . . . gone for
good this time."

“
Really?"