They’d been putting in a lot of work lately. Long hours. Quiet strategy sessions. Enough behind-the-scenes maneuvering that it would’ve made sense for anyone to disappear into their own weekend by Friday night.
Except these three rarely kept regular hours, and decompressed together almost as often as they worked.
So when no one asked about evening plans and they all headed straight for their own cars without explanation…
…that should’ve been the clue.
When Hank pulled into the lot of Andy’s Starlite Lounge, he glanced around the lot like he might see someone he knew. But why would he? The lounge was three counties out and a hole-in-the-wall so obscure you had to look it up under the Mexican restaurant attached to it.
Still.
He was wary.
The door to Andy’s looked like a dressing room door, complete with a glittery star applique. He reached for the door handle, trying to duck in before anyone noticed him.
“Hank? Is that you? What’re you doing here?”
Hank spun around and was face to face with a man in bermuda shorts, an I Spotted Elvis and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt tee, and dark sunglasses. He wore a lei around his neck. And blue suede deck shoes.
“Beau? What…what’re you… huh?”
“Elvis Night at Andy’s. I didn’t know you knew about this place.”
“The Spanish Elvis—MJ’s helping him publish his memoirs—he told me about tonight.” Hank explained. “Just thought I’d check it out.”
“And I see you pulled out your best Rockabilly garb for the event…?” Beau took in Hank’s costume. “You just had that hanging in your closet?”
“In the back, yes,” Hank answered, eyeing Beau’s shoes. “This was a look back in the day, Dawg. You don’t know everything about me.”
“Yeah. I guess not. And, uh…” Beau looked at Hank over his glasses. “Uh, you know, Grace doesn’t have to know everything about us.”
“Eintendo.”
Just then, a silver rental minivan eased in, dangerously close to Hank’s truck. He frowned, “That ain’t good.”
The sliding door opened. A white rhinestone boot emerged.
“Lord have mercy.” Beau slowly removed his sunglasses.
Whoever was in that minivan was committed to the bit. White jumpsuit. Gold eagle detailing. A cape barely clearing the asphalt.
“That…” Beau whispered. “That is respect for the craft.”
Hank nodded, truly impressed. Whoever this was had gone full Vegas ’77.
Then the jumpsuit-clad minivan driver reached up and plucked the pink bow from the copper pineapple atop her head. As she shook out her hair, her ridiculous Gracelets caught a flash of the parking lot lights.
Hank gasped and ducked behind Beau, who crossed himself.
“That’s… Grace!”
The minivan’s automatic door started to close before Grace was situated. The edge of her cape snagged and vanished into the sliding door. Then, the van started beeping—headlights flashing.
Grace froze.
Beau bent over laughing.
“Don’t you dare,” Hank whisper-yelled, already wiping tears away himself.
Grace yanked once. Nothing.
Twice.
Hard enough to shake the van.
The van honked louder, if that was possible.
She closed her eyes and implored the heavens. “Lord, please. Surely there’s a saint for this?”
Then she looked over—her eyes landing on Hank and Beau.
She yanked one last time. The cape came loose, a little ragged at the hem, but fine. The car stopped hollering.
Grace walked across the lot toward the two—sweat glowing on her brow, hair blowing in the wind, crossbody bag draped around her.
“Well,” she said, adjusting her cape and smoothing her jumpsuit. “I guess we’re about to have a night.”
And that they did.
“So you boys are the show tonight?” Beau asked the mariachi guy as he handed him a spliff of Georgia’s finest.
“¿Qué dices?”
Beau airplayed the mariachi and crooned Es ahora o nunca (Ooh), Mi amor no espera.
“Ah! eres bueno” Funny you should walk by. Our backup singer didn’t make it tonight. He’s Bailando del Jailhouse Rock. You got any chops, viejo? Looks like you might have had chops. Pork chops, maybe. With the Kang himself.”
“No soy tan viejo, kid. What am I wearing?”
Meanwhile, Grace and Hank had plumaged their way to the front row. Grace ordered a margarita that came in a glass hat. Hank asked “have you seen Beau?”
“Uno por el dinero, dos para el show,”
“Tres para prepararse, go gato, go!”
And with that, the entire El Vas y los Compriedores spectacle invaded the stage. Plus one. There in the middle, el centro exacto, stood Beau, blue suede shoes gleaming beneath the entire Elvis in white getup. Crooning.
Within seconds, the entire place was up and dancing. In the maelstrom, Grace and Hank climbed onto the stage, full Elvis garb. Beau: “Hound dog, hit it!”
“No eres más que un perro de caza” They didn’t even know where the words came from. But they were in excellent harmony
“Llorando todo el tiempo” El Vas y los Compriedores fell in behind the trio, mariachis, horns, some ancient fellow with an accordion. It was music that landed exactly as Spanish Elvis night at Andy’s Starlite Lounge should.
El Vas himself flashed a big grin, and shouted “Y tú no eres amigo mío.”
Within minutes, the three had become part of Spanish Elvis’ ensemble. Hank on the percussion, Grace singing back-up in between two Brazilian Carnival dancers in full headdress, and Beau on his guitar, trying to keep up.
Grace had been after Beau to play for some time. She’d run across a video of him from back in his Nashville days. He didn’t ever say no, just that, “that ole guitar is in a storage locker in Athens, with the few other things I ain’t shed yet.”
But tonight, Beau floated. You’d never guess he hadn’t played in years. El Vas liked Beau’s Hound Dog guitar solo.
So much so that he pulled Beau up front and center with him. El Vas shouted, “this one is for my man Julio. And my gringo’s man, Willie!”
They closed Elvis Night at Andy’s sharing the mic in a duet of To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before.
Clara, an Andy’s regular, swooned.
This short story was inspired by the Stories from the Jukebox writing prompt, Elvis Night at Andy’s.
Weekly writing prompts driven by the greatest songs of all time!
I loved that story! Very vivid and I felt like I was there with them.
There's much about E that folks don't know: https://garybrantley.substack.com/p/elvis-at-the-wheel
Hahahahahahhaha lo entiendo!