It had been the hottest day of the summer with the temperatures in the high nineties. The streets were wet from a brief thunderstorm that cooled the air. As the sun sat low on the horizon, Joe hoped for a cool night as he spotted the sign above the street that read, “Rooms for Rent”.
There was a fat man behind the desk in the lobby making no attempt to hide the pornographic magazine he was reading. Joe stood at the counter waiting to be noticed. He watched the fat man, totally engrossed, licking his greasy lips and making slight grunting sounds. Joe watched him silently for a few moments before clearing his throat. The fat man raised his eyes from the page and looked at Joe.
“Help you?” he grunted, before lowering his eyes again.
“I would like a room,” Joe said. “You got air conditioning?”
“Yeah,” said the fat man. “Wait till November and open a window. What do you expect for three dollars a night?”
Joe handed the fat man a crumpled five and four ones. “I’d like a room for three nights.”
The fat man handed Joe a dirty brass key that looked like it had been pulled from a dead whore’s ass.
“Room 306," he said while turning the magazine to look at the honey on the foldout.
"Stairs are to your left. Elevators broke. The bellboy died two years ago. You have to supply your own toilet paper and towel.”
“Right.” Said Joe “Classy joint.”
He took the key and carried his suitcase in one hand and a guitar case in the other, up the carpeted stairs covered with cigarette burns, to the third floor. He followed the number till he found his room.
There were two west- facing windows in the room. Both of them were closed. The room was around a hundred and ten degrees inside from the setting sun blasting in with no curtains. The stale lifeless air smelled like a mixture of cigarette smoke and urine which the heat seemed to magnify. Joe tossed his suitcase on the bed, slid his guitar underneath and immediately went to open the windows. They had been painted shut and were impossible to open.
“Christ!” Joe said out loud to no one. Joe plugged in his little clock radio and tuned it in to a jazz station. They were playing something with a Latin beat. Joe reached into his pocket and found his pocket knife. He worked the blade around the window trying to free it from the putty so he could remove a few panes of glass and let some air into the room. The glass was old and the glazing had long since began to crumble. The putty fell away in large chunks and before Joe could stop it a pane of glass fell outward. He hears it break on the street below.
“Mother fucker!” said an angry voice from the street under his window.
Joe stuck his head out through where the missing pane had been to see who was below. He saw a black woman. Shapely, mid twenties. Wearing a shiny black miniskirt and a red halter-top. He recognized her as a prostitute he had seen working the street earlier that day.
“Are you all right?” Joe said.
“All Right? You coulda kilt me.”
Joe looked her over. The tight plastic miniskirt stretched tight over her big round ass. Joe liked what he saw. He had a few extra dollars and it had been a long day.
“A man could eat a steak dinner off an ass like that.” Joe yelled down to the streetwalker.
“If you got a steak up there honey we can work something out”
“Sorry,” Joe said. “No steak. But I’ve got a few dollars and a bottle of scotch.”
“Now you’re talkin. What room you in honey?”
A few minutes later she was in Joe’s room. Joe handed her a plastic cup with scotch in it.
“Sorry, but there’s no ice in this dump.”
She gulped it down and held out the cup for a refill.
Joe drank his down and poured two.
“What’s your name darlin?”
She drank down half of her refill and smiled at Joe showing two rows of perfect white teeth.
“The names are Rockyo.” When she said her name, she thrust her chin defiantly in the air.
“Rockyo? That’s an unusual name.”
“It aint so unusual when you see how I rockyo world. You said you got some money?”
Joe reached into his pocket and produced a ten and two fives. She drained the rest of her drink grabbed the money and pushed Joe down on the bed and straddled him. Joe pulled a rolled joint out of his top pocket and lit it up. He took a drag and passed it to her. She took a long hit and blew smoke thru her nose. Rockyo placed the hot end of the joint into her mouth and moved face to face with Joe and shot-gunned him with white smoke. Joe inhaled deeply. Rockyo began fiddling with Joe's belt. He let his head fall back and closed his eyes.
As Rockyo opened his pants and worked the fly, his smiled broadened with anticipation, and then, Rockyo screamed a scream that sent the roaches running for cover. she was so startled she fell backwards off the bed.
“Oh my God!” Rockyo said from the floor. Joe could see her shocked face peering at him from the foot of the bed. "What is that, mister. Is you a witch?" she said as she sheepishly moved in for a closer look.
“I'm not a witch, Rockyo. It’s a sign from God,” Joe said. “you ok?”
“Wha…what is that?” her eyes were glued to Joe’s midsection.
“Some people call it a birth defect. Some say it’s a miracle.”
“I aint neva seen nothin’ like that before mister, and I’ve seen some shit in my time. Her focus was intense as she scrutinized Joe's birth defect.
Is that who I think it is!?” Rockyo said in disbelief.
“I don't know. Who do you think it is Rockyo?”
Putting her hands on the bed, she crawled up close for a better look.
“Elvis? She said as her voice shot up two octaves. It looks jus like Elvis.!” She almost shouted it.
It was true. Joe's penis was strangely deformed, the head had all the features of a human head including the eyes, the eyes were closed but they were eyes just the same. And they were Elvis's eyes, Elvis's lips, Elvis's everything. And it wasn't the fat Elvis of toilet overdose fame. It was the sexy young Elvis of Viva Los Vegas complete with the sneer and the spit curl.
"Nobody's gonna believe this shit." she said. Then she looked at Joe.
“It ain’t gonna start singing is it?”
She laughed a deep down laugh that rattled the remaining window panes. She pounded the mattress with her fist as she laughed.
“Any Requests?” Joe asked, still smiling.
Rockyo was silenced. “You gotta to be shittin' me. You tellin' me your dick and sing? This I gotta see.”
"Like I said. Any request? "
She thought for a moment. “How about ‘Love me Tender’”
“Reach under the bed.”
Rockyo reached under the bed and retrieved the guitar case. She opened it to find a weathered steel six string. She handed it to Joe. As Joe began strumming . Rockyo watched in amazement as the tiny eyes began to flutter and open to show those famous blue irises. A familiar expression came over the face as the lip curled ever so slightly.
Joe strummed the chords and the tiny mouth opened and it began to sing. Hard to believe coming from such a small source, but no doubt about it, it was the voice of the King, rich and smooth and full of emotion.
“Love me tender
love me sweet
never let me go…
You have made my life complete
and I love you so.
Suddenly, a loud explosion rocked the room. Smoke and flying debris was everywhere.
When the smoke cleared Elvis was sitting in his bed in Graceland. He was soaked with sweat. Priscilla, was by his side.
“What was it, honey? Priscilla said, placing her hand on Elvis's shoulder. Was it that dream again?”
Elvis wiped the sweat from his face with the bed sheet.
“It sure was honey. It sure was.”