Kathleen Ann Goonan - The Bride of Elvis

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THE BRIDE OF ELVIS

by KATHLEEN ANN GOONAN

[VERSION 1.1 (Dec 20 02). If you find and correct errors in the text, please update the version number by 0.1 and

redistribute.]

First published in Science Fiction Age, May '96.

Finding the tomb of Elvis empty was a big shock for Darlene.

She usually rose just before dawn, the nicest time of day here at Graceland, when it was all misty and as pretty as

the Day of Instantaneous Redemption was going to be.

But this particular Sunday, the hot sun coming in the nine-foot-high window hit Darlene square in the face as she

lay dreaming of mana, white and lovely. She stirred, blinked, and then slipped back into the dream, where she was a

child again, eating as much mana as she could stuff down, while the others laughed at her greed and urged her on.

She rolled over and luxuriated atop the warmth of her round, leather-rimmed waterbed, resting her ear against the

black satin sheet to hear the soothing slosh within.

Then she opened her eyes.

The readout on her alarm was blinking. Power must have gone out. Either that or she had messed it up again. Shoot.

It was probably after eight, and Lu Ellen would have gone off-shift at seven.

So?

It was Sunday. Darlene went limp again. A slow day. Graceland wouldn't open until 9:30. She had plenty of time to

check Elvis' readouts, and she had given Ella Mae in the Gift Shop a stockpile of hair snippings and skin scrapings, all

ready in their little plastic twist-boxes (Ella Mae couldn't accuse her of being lazy this time and leaving all the work for

someone else), so she wouldn't have to fool with that this morning.

But after five more minutes of sloth, she heaved herself out of bed, put on her plastic cap and showered, then sat

down at her white French Provincial dressing table.

She pulled big rollers out of her long, honey-colored hair and put on foundation, cool and smooth against her skin,

powder, and red lipstick. She touched on the comp-sphere, and the Hearings began to play.

The King, the King

Will rise again

Through air of gold and fire.

Her favorite. She hummed along with the ethereal voices of the Elvis Choir, then it got into the Prophecies, about

the ship coming back with plenteous mana for all.

As Darlene listened, she put on her eye makeup, which she especially loved. Mermaid Green eyeshadow, with little

sparkles in it, right after the black eyeliner. She shopped at the Rex-Mart down on Magnolia. That was the only place

she could find Mermaid Green.

Fake eyelashes and lots of thick, black mascara. There. When the daily Prophecy was over, she turned on the radio

and looked in the closet.

"Love me tender, love me true, never let me go," The King sang via KYNG, right across the river.

You bet, honey. Oh, you bet.

As she buttoned her lace blouse, a public service message urged the latest solution to help everyone stay prepared

for the Great Return in case it took much longer, head-freezing. For the ones who didn't want to put up with any more

bull while they waited. Elizabeth Taylor was going to do it, apparently, and some other humans, like Timothy Leary and

Michael Jackson.

Darlene laughed out loud when she heard that, but it was really kind of sad. There was always that seepage

between them and humans, but head-freezing wouldn't work for humans, of course. Tiny, but crucial, things about

their physiology were entirely different; they couldn't regenerate. Not to mention that their technology was so

primitive.

She gave her curls a final, swift brush and fastened back one side of her hair with a rhinestone barrette that spelled

out ELVIS.

She felt a bit haughty as she left her room in the Bride's Hall. If you didn't have the Lineage, you had nothing. And

she had it. In spades. It was one reason she was a Bride.

In the kitchen, which was empty, she fixed herself some instant coffee, all she liked in the morning unless she was a

tad hungry, and then she had ten or eleven microwave sausage biscuits. The four other Brides were still asleep, of

course, but there were usually some snotty Techs running around in their slick gray suits and belts jammed with all

kinds of what-not and gadgets. They though they were so great. They didn't realize that without the Brides, the race

just couldn't continue. Rita in particular was a jerk. She always got on Darlene's nerves, stepping aside and bowing

when she went by, saying, "Make way, everyone, wow, it's a Bride."

Darlene lit her first Marlboro of the day and opened the cooler door to get a fresh sheaf of gladiola to put in the

vases around Elvis' pedestal. The thick, dark green stalks were cool in her hand. She slipped her feet into the white

satin heels she'd carried with her, opened the back door, and walked down the path to the Tomb.

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