How Elvis’s Love Interest Ended Up in My Garage
Gloria, you’re always on the run now
Summertime, …
Gloria is hell-bent on teaching me how to sing.
…and the livin’ is easy…she trills, in tune, but with a wispy score. Once upon a time, the petite blonde reaped applause as an opera singer, even sang at the Met, but all the glamour faded after her husband strangled her, crushing her larynx.
I join in, So hush, little baby, don’t you cry.
Gloria sees a chance to repay me for my kindness by offering me singing lessons in exchange for staying in my garage. My old, crummy, windowless, drafty garage. With a fancy Malibu address, yes, but its leaky roof shapes the rain into an indoor waterfall.
Gloria showed up in my life at sunset. Always at sunset. As soon as the sun was about to dip into the Pacific, Gloria’s white mini-van appeared on the cliffs. Her 2006 Toyota Sienna, impeccably maintained bar a few bumps, always parked where I walk my dogs. I fretted over why she had to park just there, in the no waiting zone. She never hopped out, always remained at the wheel, her face craning into the sun through the open car window, seemingly rapt, eyes half-closed. I mistook her for a neighbor who steals a few moments for herself after a long day at work.
