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matching canopy. My sisters and I sat on the couch and George turned on a nearby television set.
    George leaned back against Lisa’s bed and continued visiting with us. Ricky and Billy Smith both entered, leaning against the bed and joining the conversation.
    I hadn’t paid any attention to the time and glanced at my watch. It was now approaching 1 A.M.
    Two hours had passed since our arrival. Although it hadn’t really felt like that much time had gone by, the more Ricky, George, and Billy continued to talk, the more I began to wonder whether they were covering for Elvis. Had he changed his mind about meeting us? Now that we’d been entertained with a tour, would we be asked to leave without meeting him?
    Another man’s figure appeared in the doorway of Lisa’s room. I turned to look, prepared to greet another relative or friend, but it was Elvis entering the room. I was caught off guard. I had halfway been expecting to hear trumpets sound at his entrance.
    Elvis’s jet-black hair was casually styled. There was no pompadour or glitzy outfit, just Elvis, dressed in a dark blue karate top, black pants, and black boots. I was immediately attracted to him. His hair looked soft and shiny; his skin was clean-shaven and smooth. Thinking he was gorgeous, my shyness flew right out the window.
    “Hi, Elvis!” I blurted, as if I’d known him for years.
    “Hi,” Elvis said and shook our hands, correctly acknowledging my sisters and me by name, one by one. Someone had obviously informed him who was who.
    Then, crossing the room in front of us, Elvis sat in a large dark chair to our right and put a cigar to his lips. Billy quickly leaned over and lit it for him. Elvis settled farther back in the chair and apologized for keeping us waiting.
    Billy then left the room while Elvis proceeded to ask Terry about herself. She talked about her music and the various titles she had won.
    “How about you?” Elvis asked me. “Have you won any titles?”
    I told him a little about myself. When Elvis got to Rosemary, she mentioned she had never entered any pageants outside of high school. He smiled and said, “Well, you should have, but for now you’ll just have to be Miss . . . Miss . . . Miss . . . Understood.”
    We all laughed. The more Elvis joked around with us, the more I noticed how similar his humor was to ours. I’d had this feeling of a powerful presence and energy the minute Elvis entered the room, and he continued to hold my focus completely throughout the night. At the same time, I was taken by how down-to-earth he was, and by his sexy smile and laugh.
    We continued to talk, with Ricky and George chiming in periodically. Elvis told us what an honor it was to have the street name changed to Elvis Presley Boulevard and mentioned he sometimes joked, “Get off my street!” to other motorists while driving down it. He talked about karate, too, letting us know he was a ninth-degree black belt.
    “It’s a beautiful art form,” I told him, adding that I’d wanted to take lessons when I was sixteen, but my parents thought I was too young.
    Elvis disagreed, saying it was never too young to start. Terry talked about the classical piano music she enjoyed. I brought up my love for art, but didn’t dare mention my singing. Rosemary, the most comical of the three of us, often had him laughing.
    Elvis was polite and easy to talk with, which was putting me at ease until he tilted his head to one side, looked toward the floor and said, “Ginger, you’re burning a hole right through me.” His intense blue eyes slowly drifted back up to my face.
    “Who, me?” I asked.
    “Yes, you,” he replied.
    I didn’t know what he meant, as I didn’t feel I’d been staring at him. We were just talking. I was embarrassed and felt a flash of heat warm my face.
    We talked a little more, then Elvis asked, “Would you like to see the rest of the upstairs?”
    Thrilled, we said, “Sure!”
    Along with Ricky and George, we followed