‘You know, I wish I could’ve known him,’ he wistfully said.
‘Maybe you would have, had he taken better care of himself.’ I opened my door as he lit a cigarette.
For the next two hours, we wandered through gilt and mirrors, shag carpeting and stained-glass peacocks as the voice of Elvis followed us through his world. Hundreds of fans had arrived on buses, and their passion for this man was on their faces as they walked around listening to the tour on cassette. Many of them placed flowers, cards and letters on his grave. Some wept as if they had known him well.
We wandered around his purple and pink Cadillacs, Stutz Blackhawk and museum of other cars. There were his planes and shooting range, and the Hall of Gold, with Grammy showcases of gold and platinum records, and trophies and other awards that amazed even me. The hall was at least eighty feet long. I could not take my eyes off splendid costumes of gold and sequins, and photographs of what was truly an extraordinarily and sensuously beautiful human being. Marino was blatantly gawking, an almost pained expression on his face that reminded me of puppy love as we inched our way through rooms.
‘You know, they didn’t want him to move here when he bought this place,’ he announced, and we were outside now, the fall afternoon cool and bright. ‘Some of the snobs in this city never did accept him. I think that hurt him, in a way, might be what got him in the end. You know, why he took painkillers.’
‘He took more than that,’ I made the point again as we walked.
‘If you had been the medical examiner, could you have done his autopsy?’ He got out cigarettes.
‘Absolutely.’
‘And you wouldn’t have covered his face?’ He looked indignant as he fired up his lighter.
‘Of course not.’
‘Not me.’ He shook his head, sucking in smoke. ‘No friggin’ way I’d even want to be in the room.’
‘I wish he had been my case,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t have signed him out as a natural death. The world should know the truth, so maybe somebody else would think twice about popping Percodan.’
We were in front of one of the gift shops now, and people were gathered around televisions inside, watching Elvis videos. Through outdoor speakers, he was singing ‘Kentucky Rain,’ his voice powerful and playful, unlike any other I had ever heard in my life. I started walking again and told the truth.
‘I am a fan and have a rather extensive collection of his CDs, if you really must know,’ I said to Marino.
He couldn’t believe it. He was thrilled.
‘And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread that around.’
‘All these years I’ve known you, and you never told me?’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re not kidding me, right? I never would’ve thought that. Not in a million years. Hey, so maybe now you know I got taste.’
This went on as we waited for a shuttle to return us to the parking lot, and then it continued in the car.
‘I remember watching him on TV once when I was a kid in New Jersey,’ Marino was saying. ‘My old man came in drunk, as usual, started yelling at me to switch the channel. I’ll never forget it.’
He slowed and turned into the Peabody Hotel.
‘Elvis was singing “Hound Dog,” July 1956. I remember it was my birthday. My father comes in, cussing, turns the TV off, and I get up and turn it back on. He smacks the side of my head, turns the TV off again. I turn it back on and walk toward him. First time in my life I ever laid a hand on him. I slam him against the wall, get in his face, tell the son of a bitch he ever touches me or my mother again, I’m going to kill him.’
‘And did he?’ I asked as the valet opened my door.
‘Shit no.’
‘Then Elvis should be thanked,’ I said.
7
TWO DAYS LATER, on Thursday, November 6, I started out early on the ninety-minute drive from Richmond to the FBI Academy at Quantico, Virginia. Marino and I took separate cars, since we never knew when something might happen to send us off somewhere. For me, it could be a plane crash or derailed train, while he had to deal with city government and layers of brass. I wasn’t surprised when my car phone rang as we neared Fredericksburg. The sun was in and out of clouds, and it felt cold enough to snow.