It was one of the most run-down areas that he’d ever seen. It was obvious that the region had recovered after the long winters, as the stores and eateries were in reasonable condition and one or two were still, just about, open. But most were closed and derelict.
“There,” the countess said. “The opposite side of the highway.” Her voice was calm and friendly, as though they’d never had the recent conversation.
He saw there was an oasis of green among the urban blight, with a number of tall trees, and a strange white gate of rusting wrought iron, with a guitar and musical notes built into it. A hand-painted sign was already weathered to near-illegibility Car Park And Elvisly Souvenirs. An arrow pointed farther down the boulevard.
“We just stop here,” the countess said. “Don’t think there’ll be any trouble.”
The convoy halted and everyone climbed out. Ryan went straight to Krysty and took her by the arm, steering her away for a quick word, feeling the stiffness and resistance in her body.
“Not going to explain why I went with her,” he said. “You might not like it, but you know there wasn’t any choice.”
“No?”
“No.” He felt the throbbing pulse of her anger. “She wants me to father her a child. I said I wouldn’t. She’s totally locked into thinking that it’s all the fault of the men.”
“She would.”
“Anyway, that’s what’s happening.”
“How did she take it? Your refusal?” Krysty’s attitude was softening, and Ryan felt his surge of rage easing into the background again.
“I think she’s mad. Really gone right around the bend and back again. Has no concept of responsibility and the abuse of total power. Quite frightening the way she can’t see things she does are deeply wrong. Right now she’s normal as anything. Doesn’t mean she’ll stay that way. Doesn’t mean she’s really taken in the fact that I’ve refused her.”
They joined the others, surrounded by the posse of sec men, the pale sunlight glinting on the polished Ruger Redhawks in the greased holsters.
The gate swung open, and a chubby little lady in a checked cotton dress, came out to greet them. “You’re all so welcome,” she trilled. “Welcome to Graceland.”
Chapter Thirty
“This is dreadful,” Mildred whispered to J.B. when they were about halfway through the tour. “Saddest thing I ever saw anyplace anytime.”
It had very quickly become obvious that Graceland was an awful long way past its sell-by date. The place was filthy and neglected, with stains on carpets, and several of the florid displays of clothing and mementos had deteriorated to such an extent they were actually rotting.
But their guideMaybelline Blackwellseemed totally oblivious to the ghostly charnel house that she showed them. Her commentary could have been written for her back in the predark days when Graceland was one of the most popular tourist attractions in the country, with hundreds of thousands of eager visitors thronging its rooms and gardens, soaking in the almost religious atmosphere of awe and respect.
“This was one of the King’s favorite stage outfits, with the eagle decoration, the whole covered with precious and semiprecious jewels.”
“Glass and paste,” Doc muttered, peering at the faded frayed material and the discolored stones.
“The golden piano that you see ahead of you, past the beautiful bust of Elvis by a famed sculptor, was gilded for Elvis by Priscilla in 1968 as a gift on their first wedding anniversary. The instrument is a valuable 1928 Kimball concert grand.”
“Triple-ugly,” was Jak’s comment. “And got worm in legs.”
“This is one of eleven teevee sets throughout Graceland, most of them gifts from the King’s recording company, RCA Victor. In his latter days Elvis would sometimes have them all on, tuned to different channelsa habit he learned from President Johnsonwhile he moved around eating some of his favorite snack food.”
They moved on to a room that was decorated in a kind of kitsch Polynesian style. The guide saw the expressions of amazement on their faces and took it for admiration.
“I see how impressed you are with Elvis’s favorite room in the entire Graceland complex. The Jungle Room. Isn’t it really just something?”