“Most people who want to escape are running from something.”
“Maybe I’m not like most people.”
“Clearly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He swings our hands until he pulls me around to face him. We’re stopped at a busy corner now, hundreds of people passing around us like we’re some kind of rock in a river with no intention of moving and all the time in the world.
I lift a single shoulder, tucking the side of my face against it.
“Before we met, before I saw your face, I didn’t like you. I thought you were an obnoxious manwhore.” I release a reserved laugh. “And then when you came into my bookstore, and you were so polite, and you were looking for baby books? You really threw me for a loop.”
“Polite?” he laughs. “Did you expect me to rip your books off the shelves?”
I pick a thread off his shirt. I don’t know why, but it bothers me, and I need an excuse to touch him.
“It’s happened before.” I leave out the part about that particular customer being drugged out on PCP. Or at least that’s what the cops told me when they came to apprehend the maniac.
“It’s human nature to want to figure everybody out.” His stare is heavy in mine, anchoring my heels to the cement sidewalk below. “Not to get all philosophical on you or anything.” He glances at a flashing neon sign overhead. “But in the end, none of that matters. We waste too much time trying to figure other people out that we never really get a chance to get to know ourselves. I mean, truly get to know ourselves.”
“So in other words, don’t try to figure you out?”
“What’s the point?” He shrugs, and his gaze never leaves mine. “Don’t waste your time sticking everyone you meet into these neat little categories.”
“I don’t do that with everyone I meet,” I say. “Just you.”
My cheeks burn hot.
It isn’t what it sounds like.
I mean. It is. Kind of.
But he can’t know that.
“Why just me?” he asks.
I glance over his shoulder and utter the words I never thought I’d say in my life, “Oh, look. There’s Elvis.”
Crew spins around and follows my pointed finger to a section of sidewalk half a block away.
“Those things are a dime a dozen down here.” He reaches for my hand and tugs me into him. “Wanna meet him?”
“Oh, no. No. That’s okay.” I wouldn’t know what to say to an Elvis impersonator. What do you say? Hi, I really liked the guy you’re pretending to be . . . before he died.
“Come on. Think of it as a rite of passage. You’re not officially from Vegas if you’ve never had your picture taken with an Elvis.”
Crew treads along, tugging me with him. We walk into dozens of tourists, and it feels like we’re swimming up sea, but I stay a step or two back. He shields me from the crazy and chaos.
A minute later we’re standing in a half circle next to a group of middle-aged ladies wearing matching pink t-shirts with some sorority’s name on them and nicknames like La La, Dot-Dot, and Gigi.
Their camera flashes blend with the flickering lights around us as they take turns posing with a man who very much resembles the real deal. His black, oil-slicked hair combed up high into a masculine bouffant works in tandem with a white sequined jumpsuit with flared legs.#p#分页标题#e#
For a hot minute, I’m rendered speechless.
“Thank you. Thank-you-very-much,” he says to the ladies as they scurry off, his lip lifted on one side.
Crew drags me closer until Mr. Presley spots us and flashes a smile which feels personalized for little old me.
“And how’re you doing tonight, Little Mama?” he drawls. His arms reach for me, though they may as well be pulling me in. “Would you like a picture?”
“Sure she would.” Crew lets me go.
Elvis yanks the red, sequin-encrusted scarf from his neck and drapes it around mine before wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me in. Crew readies his camera, and we smile.
“And how about your hunka-hunka-burning love here?” Elvis drawls.
“Oh, he’s not my . . . hunka . . . hunk of . . . burning . . . love.” I titter like a nervous idiot, my gaze darting between the two of them. Everything around me slows down as I bask in this sandwich of awkwardness. Elvis glitters under the neon night sky and Crew does everything in his power not to laugh too hard.
A lady in a neon tracksuit waits rather impatiently behind Crew for her turn with the dashing impersonator.
“Why don’t I snap a picture of the three of you so we can get on with this, eh?” Her words are brisk, but her delivery makes up for it.