“Look at you,” said Todd. “You look like walking Christmas.”
“Thank you.” I fiddled with the silk poinsettia necklace I had made to accompany my viridian green sweater dress with the gold spangle trim. The red cowboy boots were old, but the color fit the theme. “I have always felt that you should show the joy of the season as much as possible.”
“I’m feeling all kinds of holiday cheer. This Blue Hawaii room is something else.”
“Something else, all right.” I closed the door to our kitsched-out room decorated with fake palm trees and a round, platform bed. “I like the mural, though. You’ve got to admire a muralist who has the guts to paint Elvis riding an eight-foot wave on a surfboard. In tiny, white shorts. And judging by the shorts, the artist felt enthused by certain parts of Elvis’s anatomy.”
“I need to get me some of those Elvis shorts,” said Todd.
I reflected on the glorious idea of Todd in tiny, white shorts as we sauntered down the graffiti dappled hallway. We stopped at the elevator. Cracked gold faux-finish in keeping with the sixties theme. Or lack of interest in updating. It groaned in protest at the push of the down button. The doors jerked open revealing an avocado green box covered in even more explicit graffiti, lit by a flickering single florescent bulb.
I hesitated. Our previous trip in this elevator made low-rent carnie rides feel safe. And clean.
“Byron should be in the bar,” Todd said and yanked me into the elevator before the heavy doors slammed shut on my spangled skirt. “Sounds like everything’s ready to go on this end.”
“We still need to cast our bait,” I reminded him, then mumbled a quick prayer that we’d live through another elevator journey.
We hurriedly slipped through the Jaws of Death elevator and crossed through the lobby. The placard for the Suspicious Minds bar advertised several seasonal shows. As Man-Margaret mentioned, the Blue Christmas Review had top billing tonight.
Todd tapped a happy rhythm against the small of my back as we entered the dimly lit bar, decorated for Christmas circa 1965. More impersonators worked here dressed in various shades of Elvis’s gals. At the leather-topped bar, a tall, slim man with a thin mustache and the McIntosh thick mane of blond hair sat slumped over a mug of beer.
“There he is,” said Todd, hurrying toward his cousin. “Byron. Merry Christmas! Man, it’s good to see you. You remember Cherry from high school, right?”
“We were in drama club together.” Byron offered me a sad smile and pumped my hand. “Hey Cherry, how’re you doing? Still painting pictures? Last time I saw you was my wedding, but near the whole town was there. Look at you in that Christmas getup. You always did dress…interesting.”
“It’s been a long time.” I gave Byron a quick hug. “Thanks for meeting me. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“We’re ready to help,” said Todd. “Got it all figured out.”
“Shh.” Byron cut his eyes toward the bartender. He waited until a waitress passed and make a loud sniffle. “Y’all make a nice couple. Just like me and Tina did.”
“Byron.” Todd clasped him on the shoulder with dramatic finesse. “What happened?”
“I’m sorry. It’s just so depressing. Tina will be done with me for sure this time.” Byron began to weep on cue. “Today we were supposed to go Christmas shopping for the kids, get a tree, and a frozen turkey to fry for Christmas dinner. Nothing I like better than standing in my driveway and frying a bird on Christmas day.”
I glanced over my shoulder. At the end of the bar, a huddle of waitresses waiting on drinks had stopped to watch us. “Byron, it can’t be that bad. You’ve got another two weeks until Christmas. Tina will forgive you.”
He shook his head and his voice grew louder. “My bonus and our savings. Gone. And I just told my boss what happened and now I’ve lost my job. I’m such an idiot.”
“I think we better have a beer with this story.” I jutted my chin toward a beefy bartender rinsing glasses and pretending not to listen to our conversation.
Byron glanced at him and nodded at me. “Yeah, I could use another beer.”
Todd flagged the bartender, a large, balding man in a cowboy hat, bolo tie, and tweed jacket.
“You the Colonel?” The hat and tie gave him away, but I thought it proper to ask.
He touched his hat. “Y’all staying at the Heartache?”
“Honeymoon suite.” Todd grinned and wrapped his arm around my shoulder for a squeeze.
I offered Todd a sharp glance to cool it with the honeymoon suite stuff and turned my attention to the aging cowboy. I introduced ourselves and added, “Todd’s on his way to Vegas to play in the amateur poker tournament.”
“Vegas, huh?” The Colonel glanced down the bar and motioned to one of the impersonators. “Priscilla, come down here and meet these folks.”
He turned back to us. “Priscilla books some acts for us and sometimes performs here. She’s a crowd favorite. I also know her from making the rounds. She’ll want to meet an amateur on his way to Vegas.”
“You found an Elvis loving drag queen while playing poker? What are the odds?”
“You’re in Memphis, honey.” The Colonel smiled. “We all love Elvis. And the Heartache is known for their specialized acts. Naturally, Priscilla would hang out here.”
“Naturally.” I looked sidelong at Byron, but he was too busy staring at Priscilla to notice.
Priscilla turned from her conversation with a customer to eyeball our group. Her daisy-scattered, towering bouffant nearly scraped the low bar ceiling. Chocolate colored skin gleamed against a white, fringed halter dress that exposed a gravity defying amount of cleavage and killer abs. The skirt ended mid-thigh, exposing Priscilla’s muscular legs before hiding her knee and calf in tall, white Go-Go boots.
“Lord, I love that dress,” I mouthed in prayer, feeling ashamed by my cobbled Christmas creation. The sweater dress did hug my body, but an ironing board showed better curves.
Priscilla caught my stare. “Honey, you could never pull this off. You need something to pour into a dress like this.” She strutted toward our end of the bar and fluttered her falsies at Todd. “That’s why I look so heavenly. I fill it in in all the right places.”
Todd beamed in response.
“Baby doll.” She tipped a finger under Todd’s chin. “You are all kinds of delicious. What are you doing hanging with these country bumpkins? I book shows when I’m not starring in them. We could have an act that will knock folks dead.”
“Never mind that,” said the Colonel, “I just wanted you to meet my new guests, not book new acts. Now Cherry, what’s wrong with the cousin? I saw him crying over his beer.”
Byron looked up from his mug. “I got nailed in a poker scam.”
“Poker scam?” Priscilla curled her lip. “Or just a bad beat story?”
“Just a minute, I want to hear about this,” said the Colonel. “And you should, too, Priscilla. If there’s a scam running around here, it could affect our games.”
“Man-Margaret at the front desk told us you played poker,” I said. “But I’m getting the feeling the law doesn’t look kindly on gambling in Tennessee.”
“That’s why we like to go across the river, honey,” said the Colonel.
“Or play in establishments not known to the law.” Priscilla winked.
“We’ve got the same problem in Georgia,” said Todd.
“I don’t know about that, Todd.” I turned to his cousin. “Let’s hear it, Byron. Was it a scam or did you just lose your shirt? What happened?”