TMC
07-16-2017, 07:49 PM
From Cybill Shepherd's book "Cybill Disobedience ...." (https://www.datalounge.com/thread/18478059-cybill-shepherd-stories) :
I was not too interested in Elvis Presley or his moves. He’d become a little passé, supplanted by Motown and the British invasion of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. But he was, after all, the King. “He’s got to call me,” I told Klein, “and he’s got to pick me up himself.” “Fair enough,” he said.
One of his people tracked me down at Jane’s house. “It’s for you,” she said, handing me the receiver with demonstrative boredom. “Some weirdo pretending to be Elvis Presley.” When she grasped from my stunned mien that this was no impersonator, she pressed her own ear to the receiver next to mine...
“I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time,” he said, “ever since I saw you in that movie.”
“That was two years ago,” I said. “What took you so long?” He gave an appreciative little laugh. I’d like to see you sometime,” he said.
“Are you sure you’re not still married?” I asked. Like the rest of the world, I knew about Priscilla and their daughter, Lisa Marie, and I’d already taken hits for breaking up one marriage, but he assured me he was separated and in the throes of a divorce. He asked me to join him for a movie that evening--Elvis regularly rented local theaters at midnight for his entourage, unflatteringly known as the Memphis Mafia.
Jane was flailing her arms in a silent entreaty, “Take me! Take me!” I asked if I could bring my best girlfriend. Sure, he said. Elvis never did have a problem with two girls
I dropped my demand about being picked up, since Jane and I were driving together. When we entered the Crosstown Theater, the phalanx of good ol’ boys wouldn’t let us past the lobby. So Jane and I started tangoing together in front of the popcorn machine, ignoring the people who were trying desperately to ignore us.
Word that Elvis had entered the building through a side door filtered into the lobby like a game of whispering down the lane, and we were granted admission, sitting in a row with the bubbas. As if on cue, everybody in the row to my right got up and moved one seat over
http://assets.rollingstone.com/assets/1986/article/cybill-shepherd-breaking-the-ice-19861009/180928/large_rect/1421268732/1401x788-119064044.jpg
I was not too interested in Elvis Presley or his moves. He’d become a little passé, supplanted by Motown and the British invasion of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. But he was, after all, the King. “He’s got to call me,” I told Klein, “and he’s got to pick me up himself.” “Fair enough,” he said.
One of his people tracked me down at Jane’s house. “It’s for you,” she said, handing me the receiver with demonstrative boredom. “Some weirdo pretending to be Elvis Presley.” When she grasped from my stunned mien that this was no impersonator, she pressed her own ear to the receiver next to mine...
“I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time,” he said, “ever since I saw you in that movie.”
“That was two years ago,” I said. “What took you so long?” He gave an appreciative little laugh. I’d like to see you sometime,” he said.
“Are you sure you’re not still married?” I asked. Like the rest of the world, I knew about Priscilla and their daughter, Lisa Marie, and I’d already taken hits for breaking up one marriage, but he assured me he was separated and in the throes of a divorce. He asked me to join him for a movie that evening--Elvis regularly rented local theaters at midnight for his entourage, unflatteringly known as the Memphis Mafia.
Jane was flailing her arms in a silent entreaty, “Take me! Take me!” I asked if I could bring my best girlfriend. Sure, he said. Elvis never did have a problem with two girls
I dropped my demand about being picked up, since Jane and I were driving together. When we entered the Crosstown Theater, the phalanx of good ol’ boys wouldn’t let us past the lobby. So Jane and I started tangoing together in front of the popcorn machine, ignoring the people who were trying desperately to ignore us.
Word that Elvis had entered the building through a side door filtered into the lobby like a game of whispering down the lane, and we were granted admission, sitting in a row with the bubbas. As if on cue, everybody in the row to my right got up and moved one seat over
http://assets.rollingstone.com/assets/1986/article/cybill-shepherd-breaking-the-ice-19861009/180928/large_rect/1421268732/1401x788-119064044.jpg