anything. But I only had two dollars.
"My treat," he said, winking. He had pretty blue eyes, and I assumed he knew it—which was why he didn't wear those big aviator glasses like every other Elvis in the room.
"Sure." I figured he owed it to me, grabbing me like that. Though if I were really honest, I'd have to admit I'd had fun dancing. It had been a long time.
He followed me to the bar, where there were two open stools. Hairy Chest held out his hand. "Alan," he said.
"Not Elvis?"
He shrugged. He was kind of cute, and I wondered where Ana was. Maybe I could match-make while I was at this whole Jean-Claude recon thing.
Which reminded me. "Are you Jake?" I asked the bartender, just to make sure.
He winked at me, Elvis-style. I was starting to feel claustrophobic. "That's me, darlin'," he said. "Can I help you?"
After Alan and I ordered a drink, I showed him JeanClaude's picture. "Do you know him?"
Someone started singing "Love Me Tender." Off key. I winced, wishing I'd brought ear plugs.
"Sure. That's JC. Comes in all the time."
"Really?"
"Sure. After work."
"Where's he work?"
"Can't say."
"Can't as in won't or can't as in you don't know?"
"Don't kn—"
He was cut off when I was jostled on my stool by some one sitting down next to me. It was a slightly pudgy Elvis, who would have been better off portraying an older Elvis, but had opted for a J ailhouse Rock look. Except he had on the glasses.
"Hey," Alan said, sticking up for me. "Watch it."
"Sorry." The Old Elvis swiveled our way.
I gasped and fell off my stool, spilling my drink down the front of my shirt.
Pudgy Elvis squinted. "Nina, is that you?" He reached down, pulled off my blonde wig, and held it out like it was something toxic.
I looked up, my mouth open, my eyes blinking as if I was hallucinating. "What are you doing here?"
Twelve
Hairy-chested Alan snatched my wig back, set it on my head, and helped me up. "Do you know him?" he asked me, sounding like he was looking for a fight.
I saw Pudgy Elvis take note of Alan's hands. They lingered on my bare arms. "I suggest you take your hands off of her, sonny."
"Says who, chubby?"
My father's chest puffed. I stepped in between them before punches flew. "Alan, this is my father, Antonio Ceceri. Dad, this is Alan."
My father's eyebrows, dyed freakishly black, slashed downward. "Who was just leaving, right?"
"That's up to her," Alan said, apparently having a death wish.
Just then Ana hustled in, elbowing her way through the crowd. She stopped just short of us, took in the scene. "Why do I always miss all the fun? Uncle Tonio, is that you?"
My father murmured something under his breath, ordered a drink from Jake.
Alan took one look at Ana and lost interest in me. I sat down next to my father while a female Elvis took the karaoke mic and started singing "In the Ghetto." She was booed off the stage.
"Do I even want to know?" I asked my father, dabbing at the front of my shirt with a cocktail napkin. The outline of my pink Victoria's Secret bra was clearly visible for all to see. "Mom thinks you're at some club meeting or something."
He picked up his shot glass. "This is one of the club's outings."
"What kind of club are you in? It's certainly not Historians Unite, or whatever Mom told me."
My father's chest puffed again. "It's called 'Elvis Lives.' We meet twice a month and come here every Saturday night. And your mother knows what I'm doing. She just doesn't want to admit it."
I could see why. "Does that goop come out?" I motioned to his eyebrows. I didn't even mention the pitch-black toupee. I had my limits.
"All water soluble."
"Ah."
"Am I really chubby?" he asked, running a hand over his stomach.
"In a good way," I said. "Think Santa."
He frowned, took another sip of his drink.
Over my shoulder I saw Alan give Ana his phone number. She put it in her pocket and sat on the other side of my father. Alan headed for the karaoke line.
"Uncle Tonio," Ana said, "you look cool!"
He kissed
"My treat," he said, winking. He had pretty blue eyes, and I assumed he knew it—which was why he didn't wear those big aviator glasses like every other Elvis in the room.
"Sure." I figured he owed it to me, grabbing me like that. Though if I were really honest, I'd have to admit I'd had fun dancing. It had been a long time.
He followed me to the bar, where there were two open stools. Hairy Chest held out his hand. "Alan," he said.
"Not Elvis?"
He shrugged. He was kind of cute, and I wondered where Ana was. Maybe I could match-make while I was at this whole Jean-Claude recon thing.
Which reminded me. "Are you Jake?" I asked the bartender, just to make sure.
He winked at me, Elvis-style. I was starting to feel claustrophobic. "That's me, darlin'," he said. "Can I help you?"
After Alan and I ordered a drink, I showed him JeanClaude's picture. "Do you know him?"
Someone started singing "Love Me Tender." Off key. I winced, wishing I'd brought ear plugs.
"Sure. That's JC. Comes in all the time."
"Really?"
"Sure. After work."
"Where's he work?"
"Can't say."
"Can't as in won't or can't as in you don't know?"
"Don't kn—"
He was cut off when I was jostled on my stool by some one sitting down next to me. It was a slightly pudgy Elvis, who would have been better off portraying an older Elvis, but had opted for a J ailhouse Rock look. Except he had on the glasses.
"Hey," Alan said, sticking up for me. "Watch it."
"Sorry." The Old Elvis swiveled our way.
I gasped and fell off my stool, spilling my drink down the front of my shirt.
Pudgy Elvis squinted. "Nina, is that you?" He reached down, pulled off my blonde wig, and held it out like it was something toxic.
I looked up, my mouth open, my eyes blinking as if I was hallucinating. "What are you doing here?"
Twelve
Hairy-chested Alan snatched my wig back, set it on my head, and helped me up. "Do you know him?" he asked me, sounding like he was looking for a fight.
I saw Pudgy Elvis take note of Alan's hands. They lingered on my bare arms. "I suggest you take your hands off of her, sonny."
"Says who, chubby?"
My father's chest puffed. I stepped in between them before punches flew. "Alan, this is my father, Antonio Ceceri. Dad, this is Alan."
My father's eyebrows, dyed freakishly black, slashed downward. "Who was just leaving, right?"
"That's up to her," Alan said, apparently having a death wish.
Just then Ana hustled in, elbowing her way through the crowd. She stopped just short of us, took in the scene. "Why do I always miss all the fun? Uncle Tonio, is that you?"
My father murmured something under his breath, ordered a drink from Jake.
Alan took one look at Ana and lost interest in me. I sat down next to my father while a female Elvis took the karaoke mic and started singing "In the Ghetto." She was booed off the stage.
"Do I even want to know?" I asked my father, dabbing at the front of my shirt with a cocktail napkin. The outline of my pink Victoria's Secret bra was clearly visible for all to see. "Mom thinks you're at some club meeting or something."
He picked up his shot glass. "This is one of the club's outings."
"What kind of club are you in? It's certainly not Historians Unite, or whatever Mom told me."
My father's chest puffed again. "It's called 'Elvis Lives.' We meet twice a month and come here every Saturday night. And your mother knows what I'm doing. She just doesn't want to admit it."
I could see why. "Does that goop come out?" I motioned to his eyebrows. I didn't even mention the pitch-black toupee. I had my limits.
"All water soluble."
"Ah."
"Am I really chubby?" he asked, running a hand over his stomach.
"In a good way," I said. "Think Santa."
He frowned, took another sip of his drink.
Over my shoulder I saw Alan give Ana his phone number. She put it in her pocket and sat on the other side of my father. Alan headed for the karaoke line.
"Uncle Tonio," Ana said, "you look cool!"
He kissed
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