FAREWELL TO THE KING

by

ROSEMARY MCCRACKEN

When the news broke that the King of Rock ’n’ Roll had died, Les Moms were beyond consolation. We knew the words to every song the King had recorded. We’d lost our dearest friend.

The four of us gathered at Toni’s apartment that morning. Elvis was singing “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” on the record player when I arrived.

“There’ll never be another like him,” Mai-Lei wailed. “Elvis was the King. He was ours!” Her pretty face was wet with tears.

“We should hold a wake,” Cécile said. “Stay up all night to show how much we miss him.”

I lowered myself onto the sofa with Robbie strapped to my chest in his Snugli. “Sleep tonight, my friends,” I told them. “Tomorrow, we go to the King’s funeral.”

They stopped what they were doing and stared at me.

Toni, jiggling little Gabriella on her hip, was the first to speak. “The funeral is in Memphis, Paula. And in case you don’t know, Memphis is south of the border in the U.S. of A.”

“Toni’s right,” Mai-Lei said. “There’s no way we can get from Montreal to Memphis for the funeral tomorrow afternoon.”

I waved off their protests. “Bon Voyage Travel is offering a charter flight to Elvis Presley’s funeral. The first 150 people who put their money down will leave Dorval Airport at 7:30 tomorrow morning.”

They stared at me with wide eyes and open mouths.

“A bus will take us to the Elvis sites in Memphis,” I told them. “And we’ll be back in Montreal tomorrow night. What do you say?”

“What would that cost us?” Mai-Lei asked.

“One hundred and sixty-five dollars each.”

“Mon dieu!” Cécile cried.

“And a babysitter on top of that?” Mai-Lei said. “Dream on.”

“It’s not impossible,” I told them. “One hundred and sixty-five dollars is five dollars a week for the next 33 weeks. We’ll give up smoking for Elvis. And we all know someone we can leave our kids with for a day.”

“Might work for the three of you,” Toni said. “You’re not breastfeeding.” She looked down at Gabriella.

“Pierre would let you go to Memphis?” Cécile asked me.

“Pierre can’t stop me,” I said. “The cops nailed him in a raid last week. He’s doin’ the Jailhouse Rock.”

The girls giggled uneasily.

“We have to do this,” I told them. “For us. We can tell our kids we were at Elvis Presley’s funeral in 1977.”

“We’d need the money today,” Mai-Lei said. “That won’t be easy.”

But we managed to get it. Toni raided the joint bank account she had with Rocco, her husband. Cécile wheedled it out of her horny father-in-law. Mai-Lei dipped into the till at her brother’s restaurant. And I cleaned out the emergency fund I’d created by squirreling away money from Pierre’s grocery allowance.

That afternoon, we took the Métro to Bon Voyage Travel and bought our tickets.

As soon as I got home, I made the call. “Change of plans,” I said. “Gonna say farewell to the King in Memphis. I’ll be behind the buses outside Forest Hill Cemetery.”

“Suspicious Minds” was on the radio when I hung up. Elvis was singing about being caught in a trap. I was determined to get out of mine.

#

Toni arrived at the airport with Gabriella the next morning.

“You gotta be kidding, Antonia,” Cécile said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m breastfeeding and Gaby won’t take a bottle. I can’t go without her,” Toni said. “But she’ll be no trouble. All she does is sleep and feed and poop.”

“You’d better be right,” Mai-Lei grumbled.

Toni looked down at my feet. “Blue suede shoes, Paula?”

I shrugged. “They were good enough for Elvis.”

Mei-Lei pulled a camera out of her backpack. “We gotta have a group shot with Paula’s blue suede shoes in the middle.”

“Monsieur,” I called out to a man in a business suit, “would you take our photo?”

We posed for several shots. Then we remembered why we were at the airport and scrambled to make our flight. We found ourselves breathless in the departure lounge with dozens of other women. Many were in their twenties like us, but there were several teenagers, and a good number of older women. They wore Elvis T-shirts and Elvis ball caps and Elvis badges. Many of them were in tears.

The King was crooning “It’s Now or Never” over the sound system as we filed into the airplane.

I sank into my window seat and tried to relax.

“If I died today, my life would be complete,” Cécile moaned when she sat down beside me. “I’ll be with him this afternoon in Memphis.”

“I’ve never felt so close to him,” I heard Mai-Lei tell Toni in front of us.

Gaby, we soon learned, did more than sleep and feed and poop. She screamed at the top of her lungs. As the plane climbed into the sky, she started to howl and she didn’t let up.

“Shut that damn kid up!” a woman shouted across the aisle.

“Yeah, shut her up,” Cécile muttered beside me.

“Air pressure in her ears,” I called out to Toni. “Nurse her to make her swallow.”

Was I ever glad I’d left Robbie with my landlady.

The airline provided coffee and pop, and we’d brought peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches, Elvis’s favorite. “Hey, it’s not fancy,” Cécile said when we’d shared our cookies and Rice Krispy squares, “but I’d rather be eating lunch here with Elvis than in the fanciest restaurant in the world.”

Mai-Lei heaved a sigh. “I can’t believe he’ll never release another record.”

“Don’t be cruel,” Toni said with a groan, and moved Gaby to her other boob.

Cécile stopped munching her sandwich. “It’s over. The King is gone.” 

#

After four-and-a-half hours in the air, we landed at Memphis International. The airport was a circus, packed with fans carrying Elvis posters, waving Elvis banners, wearing Elvis caps and T-shirts and rhinestone jumpsuits.

But going through customs was a breeze. “How long will you be in the United States?” the frazzled agent asked me.

“Just a few hours,” I said, my heart hammering in my ears. “We’re going to Elvis Presley’s funeral, then flying home.”

“Tell me something new,” he muttered and waved me through.

No one asked to look in my handbag.

Outside the terminal building, the heat and humidity nearly bowled us over. Mai-Lei snapped photos of us hamming it up with the Elvis Forever sign I’d made. I took the camera and got a few shots of her.

Then we boarded our air-conditioned bus. “Cool in here and there’s a toilet at the back,” Cécile said, nabbing a window seat behind Toni and Mai-Lei. “We could stay on this bus until it’s time to fly home.”

I took the aisle seat beside her.

“Why didn’t we ever see Elvis in concert?” she asked, her brown eyes filled with tears.

“Because he only came to Canada once. Back in 1957, and we were in in kindergarten then.”

“We should have gone to see him in the States. The one trip we ever took for him was to his funeral.”

I reached over and patted her hand.

“I’m Virgil, your driver this afternoon,” the bus driver announced. “Welcome to Memphis, the city that gave the world the Holiday Inns. And Elvis Aaron Presley, the King of Rock ’n’ Roll.”

Elvis’s name was greeted by whoops and cheers and clapping. Mai-Lei turned in the seat in front of us and gave Cécile and me a thumbs-up.

“All flags in Memphis are at half-mast,” Virgil continued as he maneuvered the bus through the airport parking lot. “And traffic’s the worst I ever seen. Thousands of people from all over the world are here to say goodbye to the King, same as you. On top of that, 16,000 Shriners are in town for their convention. Good thing you folks fly out tonight. There’s not a hotel room to be had in all of Memphis.”

We merged into the city traffic. “We’ll be spending the afternoon in the suburb of Whitehaven,” Virgil said. “Whitehaven is 12 miles south of downtown Memphis, and its best-known landmark is Graceland, the King’s home.”

The passengers responded with more whoops and cheers. Gaby let out a wail, and Toni did her best to pacify her.

We crawled through the streets. About 20 minutes later, we managed to merge onto a major thoroughfare where traffic was almost at a standstill. “Elvis Presley Boulevard,” Virgil said. “In 1971, the City of Memphis changed the name of this stretch of Highway 51 in honor of the King.”

Creeping north on Elvis Presley Boulevard, we passed a Denny’s Restaurant with a gigantic flower arrangement in the shape of a guitar, a muffler shop with a hound-dog floral display, and a car dealership with Rest in Peace Elvis on its neon billboard. At a light, a uniformed police officer crossed the boulevard in front of our bus holding a young woman in his arms. She must have passed out from the heat, or maybe from the excitement.

Then we were in front of Graceland’s famous metal gates with their musical notes. Police officers were holding fans back. Down the drive, I glimpsed the white mansion fronted by four pillars and two stone lions.

“Graceland, the King’s home,” Virgil said.

“C’est extraordinaire!” Cécile’s voice was filled with reverence.

The bus went completely silent for several moments. Until Gaby started to scream.

“Damn kid!” someone shouted.

Elvis’s “Love Me Tender” wafted over the sound system, and Gaby quieted right down.

“When the King bought Graceland back in 1957,” Virgil said when the song was over. “this was way out in the country. But this area’s grown up in the past 20 years.”

“Can we get off and take photos at the gates?” Mai-Lei called out.

“No, ma’am,” Virgil said. “Private funeral service starts in there in 10 minutes. You shoulda been here yesterday. Thousands went in to pay their respects. They were lined up for blocks down the street.”

“I don’t care,” Toni shouted back to us. “I’m livin’ my dream just seeing Graceland.”

“I can feel Elvis all around me,” Mai-Lei yelled over her. “He lived and died in there.”

Beside me, a sobbing Cécile leaned back in her seat, clutching her heart. In front of her, Mai-Lei snapped photos through the window.

People were standing and sitting on the branches of the trees beside Graceland Christian Church, Elvis’s neighbor to the north, trying to see beyond the rock wall. The church grounds were littered with pop cans and fast-food wrappers.

We crawled north on Elvis Presley Boulevard. Crowds thronged the sides of the street, wooden barricades holding them back from the traffic. At Forest Hill Cemetery’s main gates, we pulled into a parking lot filled with rows of buses.

“We can watch the funeral procession go into the cemetery from here,” Virgil said. “Only invited guests are allowed in there, but you folks can get off the bus and walk around. We’ll wait here until the procession leaves the cemetery.”

We followed him into the heat outside. He joined a group of drivers having a smoke. We stood fanning ourselves in the shade of a tree at the edge of the parking lot.

“Seems this is as good as it gets,” I said to the girls. “It’s a downer that we can’t go into Graceland or the cemetery.”

“That would’ve been out of sight,” Toni said, “but it’s enough for me just to be in Memphis. Elvis knows we’re here for him. And Gaby’s happy here too.” She patted her sleeping infant’s head.

“Careful,” Mai-Lei said. “Don’t wake her up.”

I lit a cigarette, and Toni waved me away. “Don’t smoke near my baby.”

We watched the procession come up the boulevard. It was led by a silver Cadillac, followed by a white Cadillac hearse and 17 white Cadillac limousines. A helicopter hovered overhead. People on the sides of the road reached out their arms as the hearse drove by.

“He’s in there!” Cécile cried as the hearse approached us. She started to run towards it.

Mai-Lei and I held her back, and she collapsed, sobbing, in our arms. But she pulled herself together a few moments later. “Let’s hold hands,” she said, her eyes on the procession.

The four of us gripped one another’s hands as the vehicles turned into Forest Hill Cemetery. Then we hugged and pledged our eternal love for Elvis.

Mai-Lei pulled a portable tape recorder from her pack. “I need to hear his voice.”

“We can hold a vigil in the bus while he’s put into the ground,” Toni said.

“Not in the ground, Toni,” Cécile chided. “In the Presley family vault.”

“Let’s do it,” Mai-Lei said, and they turned towards the bus.

“I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” I called after them. “I need another smoke.”

I took a homemade badge out of my handbag proclaiming that Montreal Loves Elvis and pinned it on my blouse. Then I lit a cigarette and headed behind the buses. No one seemed to be following me.

So I jumped when I felt a tap on my shoulder. A woman of about my age with a mane of teased black hair stood behind me. She looked like a tough, street-smart version of Priscilla Presley.

She glanced down at my badge, then scrutinized my face. “Montreal blonde who loves Elvis. You must be Paula.”

I nodded, and she pointed to the badge she was wearing: Knoxville Loves Elvis. “I’m Larissa. Come with me.”

I looked around nervously. Other than the two of us, there was no one behind the buses. I followed her.

She pulled up in front of the wire fence. I looked around again. We were completely alone. I reached into my handbag and removed a packet from the false bottom. Larissa quickly slid it into her shoulder bag, and pulled out a small, fat envelope. She showed me that it was filled with large American bills. I slipped it into my handbag, and she sauntered off, disappearing between two buses.

By this time, hundreds, maybe thousands of people had congregated outside the cemetery gates. I crossed the road, and glimpsed a sea of flowers beyond the gates. I chatted with a police officer who was doing crowd control. He’d been a year behind Elvis at Humes High School, and had seen the King perform at the annual talent show just months before he graduated in 1953. “He put a foot on a chair, strummed his guitar and sang his heart out. For me, that’s when rock ’n’ roll was born.”

At a sidewalk souvenir stand, I bought four black T-shirts stamped with Elvis’s face and the words Love Me Tender, four Elvis coffee mugs and four Elvis baby bibs. I put my Montreal Loves Elvis badge back in my handbag and ran for the bus. My blouse was drenched with sweat and sticking to my skin.

“We been waitin’ for you,” Virgil said as I climbed aboard. “Funeral procession left five minutes ago.”

I smiled and thanked him. Back in my seat, I handed out my Elvis gifts to my friends. “Let’s wear our Elvis shirts back to Canada,” I said. I needed to change out of my sweaty blouse.

We took turns in the washroom at the back of the bus. “This has been the best day in my entire life,” Mai-Lei said when she returned to her seat.

Outside the airport, Mai-Lei took a photo of Virgil in his driver’s seat. Inside the terminal, she snapped photos of us in our new T-shirts.

On the plane, we listened to Elvis and dozed a bit. A few people complained to Toni that Gaby’s disposables were stinking up the washroom. I told her not to pay them any mind.

Cécile placed a gentle hand on my arm. “Merci, Paula,” she said. “I can tell my grandkids I was at Elvis’s funeral.”

She pulled the baby bib from her bag. “And they can wear this!”

#

“They’re searching bags and purses,” Cécile whispered in the lineup for Canadian customs.

My heart slammed into my throat.

“It’s gonna take forever to get through here,” Toni whined, “and Gaby’s diaper needs changing.”

Gaby let out a howl.

“Phew!” Mai-Lei wrinkled her nose. “I can smell it.”

Toni’s eyes flashed daggers at Mai-Lei. “Your kid don’t poop?”

“He poops at home, which is where yours should be, Antonia. We’ve had to put up with Gaby all day.”

Toni moved closer to Mai-Lei, but Cécile edged between them. “Arrêtez, vous deux! Let it go. We’ve had a long day, and we’re all tired and cranky.” She whispered something to Mai-Lei, and steered her ahead of her in line.

“I’ll take the baby for awhile,” I said to Toni. When I had the Snugli strapped in place, I motioned for Toni to walk ahead of me. I slipped the envelope of cash into the Snugli, pushing it down into Gaby’s diaper.

My gut was twisting as we neared the customs counter. “You’d better take Gaby now,” I said to Toni when we were almost at the front of the line.

“Anything to declare?” the Canadian customs officer asked as he searched my handbag. He had a bad case of acne and looked like he was still in high school.

My heart hammered as I held up my Elvis mug. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another officer going through Toni’s diaper bag at the counter beside us. Gaby was screaming in her Snugli. The officer waved Toni on.

“And this T-shirt,” I added, thrusting out my chest for my officer. “I was at Elvis Presley’s funeral.”

“Far out!” he said, ogling my breasts. He didn’t bother looking in the handbag that I held wide open for him.

In the ladies’ room, Toni slipped the Snugli’s straps off her shoulders. “Hold Gaby while I take a leak.” She thrust the baby into my arms and went into a cubicle.

I reached into the Snugli and pulled out the envelope. I wrapped it in a paper towel and stuffed it in my handbag.

“Thanks, Paula,” Toni said, when she took Gaby from me. “What would we do without you?”

#

I hugged my handbag to my chest as we headed into the city on the airport bus. “Thank you, Elvis,” I whispered. “You made it work.”

The money from Pierre’s drug stash would mean a fresh start for me and Robbie, away from Pierre and his fists. I would miss Montreal and Les Moms, but that couldn’t be helped.

And I would always have Memphis.

THE END