The Housekeeper's Daughter [Elvis]

Chapter 6 - Story Time

This house was about as big as the main one. Elvis wanted to give his parents a house that was up to par with his own. He had a great relationship with his parents. Well, his dad now. I couldn't imagine losing Momma. I was close to Daddy, but I was even closer to Momma. Was it the same for Elvis? I shouldn't ask him, after the horrible mistake I made of playing a song that reminded both him and me about out deceased parents.

It was something that we had in common, though, aside from our love of music.

Boy, if my past self could see me. If I were to go back in time about a year, before Momma started working at the mansion, and I told myself exactly where I would be and what I had been up to, she would laugh in my face. No one at school believed me when I said that my momma got a job working at the Presley Mansion and had met Elvis. I never told anyone that I would be working there myself since no one would believe me. Not even my best friend Allison believed me. I had to make a trip down to the post office and our mailbox to see if she had written me. She wouldn't know what number to call. She probably realized that I wasn't lying. We had a little tiff over it before I left. She should have followed me to the gates.

I came up the stairs inside the house and walked down the hallway, making sure everything was neat. I had been in this house every day since I came, and it had been two weeks since then. The place was usually pretty spic and span, aside from the office since Mr. Presley was in there working a lot. I knew that he was out with Elvis doing... well, I wasn't sure what. Interviews or some-such.

I entered the office and sure enough, the desk was littered with papers, the waste basket next to it had crumpled papers littered near it, the books on the bookshelf behind the desk were all askew and stacked onto each other, and I spotted an ink spot on the tan carpet near the desk.

"Well, that will require some scubbin'."

After straightening out the bookshelf, throwing those crumpled papers into the waste basket, and organizing the top of the desk without getting rid of any paperwork, I got onto my hands and knees, took the cleaner out of my basket of chemicals and rags and started on that stain.

Ten minutes passed. "Doggonit, ink stains..." I complained and let go of the rag and stretched out my aching fingers from the scrubbing. The stench for the cleaner was also giving me a headache. "Well, that will have to do. The spot looks grey now at least, not black." I stood up and my heart jumped through the roof at seeing someone in the room. "Oh my..." I gasped, hand to my heart.

He turned around and smiled. "Miss Brighten."

"Mr. Presley. Golly, you scared me."

"My apologies. I saw you down there and I didn't wanna disturb ya." He came up to me and pointed to the spot. "Yeah... I have been meanin' to tell you 'bout that, but I always forget. Aging does that to a person. Thank you for cleanin' it up."

I smiled politely. "It was no trouble at all."

"Your red fingers say otherwise."

I held up my fingers and saw how red they were. I put both hands behind my back. "Well, nonetheless, it wasn't that bad. I apologize for bein' here when you came home." I eyed the clock on the wall. "Early."

He came over to the desk, his hands in his tan slacks pockets. The light blue of his shirt made his eyes stand out, just like a blue shirt did on Elvis. "Yeah..." he said and sat down at the desk, in his very comfy-looking brown leather desk chair. "The Colonel wanted me to head out so Elvis wouldn't be distracted for a little speech he's makin' at the nearest army base."

Curious, I asked, "So you go along with him just to be near your son?"

"Yes, and I help manage him as well, but with only the little things."