Presley-themed
hotel-casino."
“ How could I have missed that? And you say that a host of Elvis imitators is in town for the opening?
So my guy is just some Elvis imitator?"
“That's
the best guess."
“But
why?"
“Good
publicity?”
Matt sighed. "Leticia is really jazzed on that call.
Says it'll skyrocket the show's
ratings."
“ Probably will. And since
when have you used a verb like 'jazzed'? Is working for that radio station corrupting you?”
Matt shook off her gentle
jibe, still concentrating on what bothered him.
"You don't think the radio station, Leticia—?"
“ Would arrange for Elvis to 'phone home' without telling
you? No." Temple glanced at him, measuring his mood. "But the thing about you, Matt, is you're such a sincere, natural radio personality. If they did
want to encourage more sensational news, like that call from the unwed mother a couple weeks ago, they might be tempted
not to tell you it was a set up deal."
“I
would never approve of a deception like that."
“ Of course not, and I'm sure they know that.
Besides, if it was a setup, you'd be
a whole lot more believable if you really bought it."
“They'd
do that? Trick me? Use me?"
“You
ever hear the story how some mean director got Jackie Cooper to cry as a child actor? He lied and told him his
dog was dead, then shot the scene."
“ Well, nobody's telling me Elvis isn't dead. And I wouldn't cry for him anyway. I mean, I know nothing about the man, except for his scandalous lifestyle."
“ Right, you were listening to old Bob Dylan instead
of early Elvis. Talk about far-spectrum opposites. It is kind of amazing how it all came together in the
late fifties and early sixties: Elvis
making hard-edged rock 'n' roll out
of the rockabilly and rhythm and blues closet, Bob
Dylan leaving the Minnesota Iron Range to troll for authentic folk music in the South, then the Beatles bor rowing from both and blowing in from England and blowing
away both folk and rock for a while."
“ Huh? That all sounds like Sanskrit to me. You do know
a heck of a lot more about this than I do, Temple."
“ No, just the rough outlines. I always had to know a little about a lot in my various jobs."
“That's
why you're so invaluable."
“Right."
“ So how can I avoid being taken to the cleaners—on the
air, yet—by this phony Elvis?"
“ Know thy antagonist." Temple bit her lower
lip. "There's the library,"
she said, smiling at the vision of Quincey Conrad being forced to apply
for a library card because of her Priscilla assignment. "Tons of books on the subject. And videos too, I'll bet. You could
check the voice against your own recording.”
Matt
frowned. "I don't have a VCR."
“ Yet. One more improvement of modern life to invest in,
son," she added in a relaxed baritone drawl.
Matt looked at her as if he'd never seen her before. "That
was pretty good for a girl who's no Elvis freak.
If you can do Elvis that well, how good would a real Elvis
imitator sound?"
“ Like the real thing. Especially if he had a facial
struc ture that actually resembled the King's. The shape of the facial mask affects how the voice is produced.
Ever no tice how lookalikes usually sound alike?"
“No."
“Well,
they do."
“Come
to think of it, there was a priest in Arizona we always used to say looked and sounded like Gig Young, the actor.”
Temple
giggled.
“Why
are you laughing?"
“ If you knew Gig Young's wicked, womanizing ways
. . . well, him as a priest is pretty funny. Plus, he committed suicide."
“ Poor man. But no way would he have been priest material.
So I'm still in a pickle: how do I keep from looking
like a complete fool the next time the guy calls, if he does?"
“ Oh, he probably will. Even if he's just a nut with
no motive but exposure, kind of like a psychic flasher, he'll want more
attention. Say, I wonder—? May I use your phone?"
“ I can't resist anyone who says 'may' instead of `can'."
“ Only every other Tuesday." Temple picked
hotel-casino."
“ How could I have missed that? And you say that a host of Elvis imitators is in town for the opening?
So my guy is just some Elvis imitator?"
“That's
the best guess."
“But
why?"
“Good
publicity?”
Matt sighed. "Leticia is really jazzed on that call.
Says it'll skyrocket the show's
ratings."
“ Probably will. And since
when have you used a verb like 'jazzed'? Is working for that radio station corrupting you?”
Matt shook off her gentle
jibe, still concentrating on what bothered him.
"You don't think the radio station, Leticia—?"
“ Would arrange for Elvis to 'phone home' without telling
you? No." Temple glanced at him, measuring his mood. "But the thing about you, Matt, is you're such a sincere, natural radio personality. If they did
want to encourage more sensational news, like that call from the unwed mother a couple weeks ago, they might be tempted
not to tell you it was a set up deal."
“I
would never approve of a deception like that."
“ Of course not, and I'm sure they know that.
Besides, if it was a setup, you'd be
a whole lot more believable if you really bought it."
“They'd
do that? Trick me? Use me?"
“You
ever hear the story how some mean director got Jackie Cooper to cry as a child actor? He lied and told him his
dog was dead, then shot the scene."
“ Well, nobody's telling me Elvis isn't dead. And I wouldn't cry for him anyway. I mean, I know nothing about the man, except for his scandalous lifestyle."
“ Right, you were listening to old Bob Dylan instead
of early Elvis. Talk about far-spectrum opposites. It is kind of amazing how it all came together in the
late fifties and early sixties: Elvis
making hard-edged rock 'n' roll out
of the rockabilly and rhythm and blues closet, Bob
Dylan leaving the Minnesota Iron Range to troll for authentic folk music in the South, then the Beatles bor rowing from both and blowing in from England and blowing
away both folk and rock for a while."
“ Huh? That all sounds like Sanskrit to me. You do know
a heck of a lot more about this than I do, Temple."
“ No, just the rough outlines. I always had to know a little about a lot in my various jobs."
“That's
why you're so invaluable."
“Right."
“ So how can I avoid being taken to the cleaners—on the
air, yet—by this phony Elvis?"
“ Know thy antagonist." Temple bit her lower
lip. "There's the library,"
she said, smiling at the vision of Quincey Conrad being forced to apply
for a library card because of her Priscilla assignment. "Tons of books on the subject. And videos too, I'll bet. You could
check the voice against your own recording.”
Matt
frowned. "I don't have a VCR."
“ Yet. One more improvement of modern life to invest in,
son," she added in a relaxed baritone drawl.
Matt looked at her as if he'd never seen her before. "That
was pretty good for a girl who's no Elvis freak.
If you can do Elvis that well, how good would a real Elvis
imitator sound?"
“ Like the real thing. Especially if he had a facial
struc ture that actually resembled the King's. The shape of the facial mask affects how the voice is produced.
Ever no tice how lookalikes usually sound alike?"
“No."
“Well,
they do."
“Come
to think of it, there was a priest in Arizona we always used to say looked and sounded like Gig Young, the actor.”
Temple
giggled.
“Why
are you laughing?"
“ If you knew Gig Young's wicked, womanizing ways
. . . well, him as a priest is pretty funny. Plus, he committed suicide."
“ Poor man. But no way would he have been priest material.
So I'm still in a pickle: how do I keep from looking
like a complete fool the next time the guy calls, if he does?"
“ Oh, he probably will. Even if he's just a nut with
no motive but exposure, kind of like a psychic flasher, he'll want more
attention. Say, I wonder—? May I use your phone?"
“ I can't resist anyone who says 'may' instead of `can'."
“ Only every other Tuesday." Temple picked
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