A Kings Bouquet

All men have a fragrance, something unique, a woman can distinguish.
Something personal, such as the cologne he casually mists on to his chest after a hot shower. The aftershave he wittingly places upon his face. Once savored, she will file it away, treasuring it. Never to be forgotten.
Like a panther, he prowls his territory, leaving behind this, enjoyed, trail of masculinity. No female can mistake the fragrance of man; it is engrained in to her genetic makeup. He cannot escape her attention, nor does he want to.
Though the room may be filled with, well- wishers and admirers alike, she will sense him when he walks through the door. No words from those sweet lips will be necessary. The very core of what makes her a woman will sense his arrival.
She is aware there are other women who feel the erotic waves she feels, while in his presence, but he will be hers tonight.
He may rush through the jungle, thrilled with his primal nature, but eventually he will come to rest by her side. She anticipates their special moments, hoping he will stay but accepting that he won’t.
A familiar drawl rings in her ears as he speaks to someone close by. His voice alone causes her head to spin with dizzy delight. He moves her in ways even she does not understand.
She tries to control her anxiety but try as she might her hands continue to tremble. She refuses to be the same crumbling, awed, woman he is used to. With every steadying breath she takes, she can feel his eyes burning, caressing her from behind. He is watching. She imagines that confident grin that must be playing across his face, pleased with his little game of tease.
While her anticipation rises, she resists the urge to turn, in search of his beautiful blue pools. He is accustomed to being chased, she reminds herself. She will wait for him to come to her, to follow his most basic of instincts. He will become the hunter and take what is rightfully his. Butterflies fill her stomach, ignited by the thought of being his captive, if only for a night.
She desperately tries to carry on a casual conversation with a woman whose name she has already forgotten. All the while she listens for his eminent arrival. It does not go unnoticed that her spoken pleasantries fall on deaf ears. Every woman in the room is unable to tear their eyes away from the visiting Adonis.
When his hand gently touches her bare shoulder, the gates of heaven open and she is given a brief glimpse of what is to come.
“I’ve been lookin’ for you all night.”
His recognizable voice is thick, and it burns, branding its mark into her very bones. A shiver runs down her spine.
“I’ve been looking for you my whole life,” she purrs back and turns into his waiting arms.
She draws herself closer to his body, pressing herself deeper against his sturdy chest. Their two hearts beat so closely, she believes they could be one.
A slow, sensual, smirk spreads across his face and he glances around the room. His arms tighten around her waist.
“Honey, one night could last a life time,” he mutters and then erotically nibbles on his lower lip.
A blush rushes up to her cheeks. He knows what he is doing to her.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says before leaning in for the first kiss of the evening.
Lips as soft as silk overwhelm her, demanding more then she has ever given in such a public manner. His tongue teases her lips and her mouth parts, offering herself up for his taking. But he is careful of his boundaries. His control is frustrating and exhilarating, his kiss threatening and promising alike.
With every inhaled breath she ponders his unique fragrance, a Kings bouquet, so sweet and forbidden. Her legs shake with desire.
“You are mine- forever.” He whispers over her lips.
She never doubted it, though she cannot even remember his name.

Dream Angel (Heaven Waits)

A large staircase, covered in white plush carpet, captivated me as I crossed the threshold into Graceland’s foyer. I felt like a special guest finally arriving for a long-awaited visit. I stopped for a moment and closed my eyes, breathing in the feeling of love that had made this house a home for more than thirty years. The luxurious stairway, still decorated in red poinsettias left from the recent holiday season, drew me closer to Elvis’ private sanctuary. Like Eves’ first glimpse of the forbidden fruit, I was mesmerized. My dream-like trance was nearly broken as a familiar figure seemingly descending the stairs caught my eye. Momentarily startled, I soon realized the vision was nothing more than a suggestion of the star himself. The statuette that showcased Elvis’ clothes so fashionably seemed to watch me with vacant eyes. “Phantom Illusion Startles Fan to Death,” the morning headlines should read, I thought with a chuckle. Uncomfortable with the headless image, I turned back to the tour group now in deep conversation near Graceland’s formal living room.
“Did you see that, Betty?” Murmured the genteel-looking woman, I had met earlier in the plaza.
“He’s here, all right Sue,” her friend confirmed with an excited nod.
I could see their faces as they swooned with a secret they assumed only they were privy. The two women huddled together were clearly good friends, but I could see by their opposite styles, or lack of, that they were of entirely different means. Just one of the many wonders of Elvis, I thought as I joined my touring companions. I glanced into the living room and my heart jumped, skipping a beat.
“Oh, God!” I shrieked, quickly covering my mouth with my hand.
“Are you okay?” Sue, the taller of the two friends, rested her hand on my shoulder.
Still stifling a scream, I glanced in fear at Sue and then back to the lasting image appearing before us. She followed my gaze.
My mind reeled at the sight of Elvis lounging on his sofa. Like a sleek jungle cat, Elvis sat with his long legs stretched out before him. He appeared to feel comfortable as if he knew he alone ruled this jungle.
*******************************

==Purchase Eternal Flame from my website http://www.patriciagarberauthor.com/ and help me support United Cerebral Palsy in 2009. In special thanks, i will
include this full chapter from the sequel Dream Angel (Heaven Waits) with every order.===Blessings: Patricia Garber.

***This work is not authorized or endorsed by the Estate of Elvis Presley or by the estate of any other person. It is a work of fiction, meant only for entertainment purposes****

One Last Night

The evening of August fifteenth, nineteen seventy-seven, was like most summer nights, in the south- moist and hot. The kind of night when a single inhaled breath possessed a soft, damp feeling, both pleasant and uncomfortable. I imagine it to have been a night of opposition. While excitement brewed in the heavens, grief lingered, mixing in the breeze. Come morning, a storm of tears would blow across the earth.
Elvis Presley spent his last night, unaware of his destiny. Instead, he played a late-night game of racquetball, enjoying some private time with family. A lot has been reported about the events of that fateful night. Some would say, Elvis was light-hearted, excited. Not only about his up-and-coming tour but his recent engagement to Ginger Alden as well. While others say, he was ready for a change, both in management and his life, planning a much needed rest after this tour. Still some, unbelievably, try to convince us that on his last night on earth, with his adored daughter sleeping just a few doors down, a man, who both loved and feared God, took his own life. No matter what you believe, I ask you to forget about the controversy that follows this night. Forget about the rumours and often heartless words that try to chip away at his memory. Instead, let’s take a journey together. Let’s spend this last night with him, the man we love, no matter the circumstances above. Will you join me?

Graceland is especially peaceful at night. Not even the hum of civilization can be heard from up on this hill. Standing in Meditation Gardens, we watch as streams of water burst into the air, lifting our hearts, before cascading back into the fountain before us. The garden is not a cemetery, on this night, friend. Rather it’s a place of prayer and the statue of Jesus reminds us he is there. We look up to the wonder of a clear southern sky. Like a black canvas, painted in bursts of light. We are moved by what only The Almighty could create. Smiling to each other, we understand the peace we both feel in this special place.
Suddenly, hilarity captures our attention from just around the bend. Can you hear it? We have heard this heartfelt laughter before. It calls to us and we follow its beckoning. Together we stroll, careful not to stray onto the freshly cut grass, towards the source of this joyous resonance. A soft light illuminates our way as we approach the large white building, just around the bend. Rising Sun, Elvis’ palomino, enjoys a late-night snack from the lush pastures of Graceland. He briefly pauses and seems to consider us. We stop to admire his long white mane, shining against the night, before continuing to the racquetball centre. We feel welcomed here and Elvis is expecting us.
Upon entering, the sound of rubber soled shoes, gripping the floor, greets us. The smell of musk and leather prickles our noses. Elvis is here and this is where we want to be. Stalled at the top of the stairs, we are momentarily awed as we take in our new surroundings.
Running about, inside a playing court, separated by glass, are two grown men acting as if they were merely children. They pause in their play. Panting heavily; they turn to consider the new arrivals. Elvis, dressed in a dark jogging suite, encourages us to sit down with a simple wave of his hand. An easy smile spreads across his Angelic face.
Come on in, watch your step.

We descend into the room, soaking it all in. A stand up piano, against the wall, captures our attention. Like kids in a candy store, our eyes begin to glow. A song is imminent. For now, however, a heated game of racquetball ball is taking place between two family members, with a history of cousin-rivalry. Keeping our eyes on the game, we slide on to the brown, seventies style, leather couches, set up for visitors to watch the show. Shifting eagerly, we glance at each other and give out a light chuckle. Not as comfortable as we imagined? Do we care? Not a bit.
Watching the movement inside the court, we soon realise the game has taken a turn. A game with rules and boundaries has quickly become a game of war. Each man appears eager to slam a tinny rubber ball against the other. Elvis makes every effort to ricochet this blue object off his cousin’s small frame. Laughing and cursing flow freely from inside the playroom. We join in, both amused and entertained. Soon, we see hands raised high in the air, a white flag of surrender.
Elvis exits the game room a champion. With his chest out and a broad smile across his face, he approaches us. We hold our breath and savour the sight, as he leans over to make our acquaintance. Small beads of sweat appear on a face that is perfect, even for Heavens standards. Can he offer us a drink, he asks, and turns, hoisting his pants like the King of the castle. Neither of us speaks as he fetches himself a bottle of water.
Did we have a look around his beautiful Graceland?
It’s lovelier then we could ever have imagined, we admit openly.
Seemingly happy with our response, his smile beams. We can’t help but study him. Heavier than normal, he carries himself as gracefully as he ever did. This added weight does not dishearten us. He is as beautiful as ever.
Drink in hand and a towel now draped around his neck, Elvis crosses the room. Our collective hearts skip a beat as the piano becomes his desired resting-place. Pulling out the stool, he takes a seat. Placing his drink within reach, he gives his attention to the ivory keys before him. The room goes silent as he familiarizes himself with the instrument. He finesses the keys in a moment of reintroduction. A shy smile conveys his amusement and or bashfulness over this fumbling. He plays the piano wonderfully but he’s too humble to ever admit it. We adore his modesty.
Do we have a request?
A million songs pass through our thoughts; “How Great Thou Art”, “Unchained Melody”, just to name a few. However on this night, a song has already been predestined.
Anything he wishes to play, we will love.
Smirking, he begins to plunk out chopsticks, clanking, for our amusement. He laughs, wholeheartedly, at his own joke and admits he’s only foolin’ around. Dear Lord above, we love him.
Turning, he begins to play a song of his choice. The music is rich and it fills up the room, overwhelming our ears with its greatness. He plays with ease and his slim fingers float over the keys, as if of their own will. Our hearts sore and just when we think it can’t be any more wonderful, he opens his mouth to sing. Like a voice from paradise, “Blue Eye’s Crying In The Rain”, lifts our soul to new heights. His rich tenor speaks of a love, lost on earth, only to be reunited in heaven. We feel his words, more than he can ever know. Glancing our way, he smiles; pleased we are happy with his tune of choice.
We love it. You have the voice of an angel, we exclaim.
This is to be the last song Elvis will ever sing. I’m glad we were there.

The night is getting late and he starts a big tour tomorrow. He needs his sleep. Sadly, we know sleep won’t come for him on this night, of all nights. He will struggle with slumber tonight, as he does most nights, lying awake, wishing rest would finally come.
Though aware our time is ending, we reluctantly follow him out. Trailing behind him now, a profound sadness lingers. How we missed it before, we cannot say. He turns to say his goodbyes and his eyes, once bright and playful, appear uneasy. Only the sound of a cricket can be heard over our combined heartbeats. Unspoken words seem to hang in the air, pleading for us to speak them.
We love you, you know? We whisper into the night.
A shy smile spreads across his face.
I love you to. He says, his voice cracking with emotion and his eyes averting to the ground.
I fear, you may soon change your mind.
No, we tell him, nobody can change how we feel. No person, no cruel media and no written words to paper can ever change our devotion. A momentary look of surprise flickers across his face. He must wonder how we know what troubles him but we do not speak of it.
We understand the difference between the image and the man, we tell him.
Smiling, his eyes soften and his arms open wide. We rush to hug our final goodbyes.
Come back and see me, I will be here, he tells us.
A tear runs down our cheek, but it is not of our own.
We will be back and we will bring many more with us.
Thousands to be exact but that is another story, meant for another day.
A big ole love-in? We’ll give the Beatles a run for their money, he jokes.
Our laughter spills out into the night, softening this moment of sadness. We hold back the need to tell him, he will soon surpass all artists, becoming the “Artist of the Century”.
Someone should walk y’all to your car, he suddenly mentions, concerned for our safety. We will be careful, we assure him and we pull away from his side.
There will be no late-night vigil at his bedside tonight. No insistent, admission to the nearest hospital. It is simply time to go.
Heading down Graceland’s drive, we hold each other’s hand, keeping the other from racing back. We cannot change destiny. Only now, away from his presence, can we shed our grief. The tears flow freely and sorrowfully. Glancing back to Elvis, now only a shadowy figure in the night, we watch as he keeps an eye on our departure. He gives us an easy wave and our bodies begin to shake with the emotion we have been holding at bay. Wrapping our arms around each other, we know it will take the strength of both of us, every fan, to help us leave. We cannot go back my friend. Remember, this was only for one night.
Exiting the gates of Graceland, we turn, praying for one last look. As the big iron gates close, we grip the bars, eagerly looking for Elvis but he is gone. The house is dark and fate still beckons. Our bodies, weak with grief, crumble to the ground. I hold you and you hold me. We are all we have now friend. Together we scream out into the night.

No, no... We cry!

Please God... We beg!

Don’t take a man who has touched so many, when I have touched so few!

Take me!

Take us all!

Just don’t take this earthly King!


By: Patricia Garber

***This work is not authorized or endorsed by the Estate of Elvis Presley or by the estate of any other person. It is a work of fiction, meant only for entertainment purposes****

Nevada Nights

On a warm Nevada night, I found myself where I never dreamt I'd be;at least not without Elvis. Settled in floor seats, at the MGM Grand arena, I could feel the anticipation as it rose in an eager crowd. Electricity bounced from the rafters, leaping from person-to-person, fan- to- fan.
Bon Jovi was in the house. His fans, including my big sister, eagerly awaited their hero. I Had never sat this close to any performer, I mused from centre stage. Security guards began to line the high stage walls, restricting fans from reaching their idol. My imagination began to take flight.
Suddenly, the arena lights dimmed and an explosion of screams ignited around me. A solid beat resounded throughout the room under a black canvas of fantasy. I floated back to a time when only one King ruled the stage. My breath held as the rhythm grew stronger. 2001 Space Odyssey climaxed inside my imagination and a chill ran down my spine. I squeezed my eyes tighter and envisioned Elvis, pacing in the wings like a caged panther. The first tear of the night fell from my eyes.
Jon Bon Jovi bounded on to the stage, thrilling his fans. Lost to the truth, my lone panther glided behind him. Like a Greek God of mythology, heightened in white, Elvis strutted across the theatre of my mind. His every step accented by the flutter of tassels and his long strides pursued a beat; executed by Ronnie Tutt himself. I smiled, foreseeing that lopsided grin, welcoming me, as he strikes a pose near centre stage. I waited for his first sung note and that rich voice; a gift straight from heaven. Created for his glory, I was sure God would be watching. I squeezed my eyes tighter, praying it would come but not a note came forth. No harmonizing tenors, no “little girl with the high voice” singing and no Elvis. My dream had ended.
Back on earth, I found myself still seated in the middle of a standing crowd. They sounded like Elvis fans, acted like Elvis fans and even looked like Elvis fans. But on this night they were Bon Jovi’s fans. A skilled performer, he ruled the stage and this crowd was undoubtedly his. I look up in to the rafters and sighed. As a fan of Elvis Presley’s, I will never see him take another stage. I will never experience the full extent of the excitement that filled the hearts of thousands on this Nevada night. But for a time I held it in my hand. Though only a fantasy, the thrill washed over me and for the second time that night a tear fell from my eyes.
Through a misty gaze, I looked over at my big sister. I suddenly saw myself in her eyes. The love she felt for a performer that has moved her since she was a teen was there for all to see. My veil of sadness fell away and I realized I understood her. I wiped away my single tear and lifted my camera to capture her in time.
My sister and I have not have spent many days of our lives together. In fact, we have spent more days apart then we will ever spend together. But on this one spring night, in that arena, we sat a few rows away from heaven. It might not have been my heaven, but it was hers and that was good enough for me.

Patricia Garber

Tick, Tick, Tick

Tick, tick, tick went the clock on Elvis Presley Blvd. Like a court jester, it taunted me. My eyes narrowed as I turned yet another corner, in a long line, filled with Elvis fans from around the world. Together we had gathered and together we stood. Not just to remember the thirty years of Elvis’ passing but to celebrate the forty two years we were blessed to have him with us.
Ten o’clock the time tower broadcasted out into a steamy August night. The unrelenting ninety seven degrees flashed; hot even for Memphis. I swiped at the sweat on my brow and sighed, wondering how much more I could bear. It had been three hours so far, rivalling the longest vigil I had attended to date and I had barely moved.
Adjusting my stance, I glanced around. Elvis fans, thousands strong, flanked me like a great army ready for battle. I smiled, as I noticed many could have been Elvis’ age- had he lived. If they can do it, then so can I, I thought and stood up a little taller. We’re in this together. I cannot desert now!
Looking up ahead, the line seemed never ending. I ran a clammy hand through damp strands of my blonde hair and watched as a first generation Elvis fan rested in her wheelchair nearby, seemingly asleep. Can he see this? I wondered. Is he watching from somewhere, worried for our well being? He would not have wanted anyone to suffer on his account and yet I had heard three fans had sadly passed away, succumbing to the heat that continued to grip Memphis.
Though my knees begged me to stop, I remained focused on my destination; the long line of candles flickering up Gracelands driveway. A heavenly voice flowed out into the street. Elvis had been singing to us for hours, serenading us with songs of encouragement, love and faith. My heart skipped as I realised, not a single song had played twice. So much music in such a short life time!
Tick, tick, tick continued that blasted clock. Four thirty in the morning and still ninety three degrees! Oh what I wouldn’t give to witness the evil time keeper falling to the ground, crumbling into little pieces? I smiled devilishly over the thought of its demise.
“Uh-uh,” the person behind me cleared his throat.
Glancing forward, I quickly hurried to fill in the space.
“Sorry,” I threw over my shoulder.
My eyes grew wider with every step, unable to believe what I was finally seeing. Like a mirage in the desert, the gates of Graceland were finally up ahead. My spirit lifted as I stepped up to accept a vigil candle. Like a kid with a new toy, I played with it until it blew out. Yes, at five thirty in the morning, I was the only fire fly without a fire. I pouted, and watched as fans passed me by, headed for the exit. Having already paid their respects, and lived to tell about it, each seemed in their own quite reflections as they excited the grounds of Graceland.
Suddenly a young man approached me. He spoke not a word as he bowed from the waist and handed me his light. No candle could have been more beautiful as it flickered inside a translucent shade, decorated with Japanese symbols. My new friend spoke no English. Words are not required where Elvis is concerned. Smiling, I bowed back and gladly accepted his gift of light. Under a soft glow of new friendship, I made my way to Meditation Gardens. I stood, in awe before Elvis’ final resting place. The display of love, now four foot high, lavishly covered his bronze head stone. Tears filled my eyes as toys, guitars, flowers and teddy bears, proved thousands had passed before me. Do you feel the love friend? I sure do, I thought to myself. For eight hours I dwelled inside that love. I let it wash over me, enjoying what I imagined Elvis had once felt from us all. It’s no wonder even ailing; he had managed to step out on to a stage. Just for us.
It was six thirty in the morning before I left the ground of Graceland. The Memphis sun was rising in a clear blue sky. As I walked out, I encouraged the many still lingering.
Tick, tick, tick went that clock and still the devoted wait.
Vigil Night, August 15th 2007
Patricia Garber

Inspired By Elvis To Write!

Inspired by Elvis to write, that’s what I tell people, when I am asked how a woman with no formal writing skills could suddenly become an author. My “Elvis story”, as all admirers have one, is not unusual. In fact, I would be willing to bet it is similar to millions of Elvis fan around the world.
I was only nine and just days away from turning ten, when Elvis Presley passed away so untimely. For me it was a turning point in my life. I had just become interested in Elvis the year before, 1976, when he came to my home town and caused such excitement inside the little community in which I lived. Tickets were hard to come by and because of this; I went to a babysitter the night of the event. I have never forgotten my mother’s words of comfort that night, "Don't worry he'll be back." Sadly that was never to happen. Only a year later, I watched my first funeral procession on live TV. I learned at a young age not to take tomorrow for granted. Today might be all we have. Elvis' life and his legacy have taught me much over the years. His love of God, his love of man, and yes even his frail moments, played a big part in shaping the woman I am today. Elvis’ belief in dreams coming true, even for a poor boy from Tupelo, moved me to try everything life had to offer. With God behind me and the love of my family beside me; I felt fearless.
For many years, I spoke of writing a book with Elvis as a main character. Even as a child I wrote short stories, entertaining only myself, imagining what it would have been like to have made that concert in 1976. Three years ago I decided to follow my dream and finally put pen to paper. I wrote leisurely and only when inspired. A few years after starting, I believed I had created a story that was unique in the world of Elvis Fiction. Thanks to my passion for Elvis, a woman who could barely pass a High School spelling-bee had become a writer! My deepest wish is to bring hours of entertainment and joy to my fellow Elvis fans around the world. I hope they read well into the night, struggling to finish one last page before the lull of sleep overcomes them. And when it finally does, I pray their last conscious thought is; God loves me. And yes, I believe Elvis did too.

Blessings.
Patricia Garber