A POP STORY OPENING
The King of Rock n’ Roll paced the thick shag carpeting of the front room of his Beverly Hills mansion. Handsome and tanned, in the prime of looks and voice, the man had no reason for trepidation. Yet, here he was, scarcely thirty years old, and already obsolete.
Elvis wore black slacks and a bright red shirt. On a nearby sofa, Priscilla sat with heavy makeup and her trademark beehive. Around her waited—eagerly?—his guys, the “Memphis Mafia.” Behind them stood the Colonel, man with the cigar, who’d arranged this meet-up.
On their way were the Lads from Liverpool. The Fab Four. Biggest musical act on the planet. Strange fops, maybe, with their mop tops. Nevertheless, they’d created unprecedented hysteria.
The phone rang. Lamar answered it.
“Okay.”
He looked at Elvis.
“That was the security gate. They’re on their way up.”
Oh Lord. How was he ever to impress these guys?
They heard cars pull into the driveway. The famous man took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped onto the porch to greet them.
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The Story Opening Contest at www.americanpoplit.blogspot.com runs until March 21st. I hope that writers aren’t taking it too seriously. If you’re afraid of embarrassment, then if you have to, use a phony name. I need more fun entries! (First Prize: A set of Elvis dvd’s.)
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