Through Jimmy's Lens: A Cautionary Tale of Celebrity Life in the 21st Century

“Elvis Presley,” I said to the kid in the black suit.

“Yes, Mr. Rooney?” he answered.

I just stared at him a moment, thinking of how many times I had actually met the King, including once when Ronnie and Nancy were there too.

I shook my head, like a dog trying to crack a bone, trying to get it right. “Elvis,” I repeated. The kid nodded patiently. He seemed an all right sort for one of them. I figured that was probably because he wasn't from around here. They never let anyone who had grown up around here be anything but an asshole. Not that this place hadn't always been run by assholes, but now there were less of us left around to remind everyone of how things used to be run.

Still, even among the assholes, some were worse than others. Frank Sinatra had been bad enough back when he was alive. Now that he was dead and buried... Well, let's just say that he was probably high-fiving Elvis in hell about now if they both happened to be there at the same time and remembered each other from back when they used to hang around together on the Strip in Vegas back in the day at the Sands or wherever it was.

I still couldn't remember where Sinatra was buried, though I knew exactly where Elvis was buried because he'd asked me personally to have his ashes spread out over his back yard so that he could look up at them from his bedroom window whenever he wanted to feel close to Graceland for a minute or two whenever he felt like it. Of course that also meant that his widow had to watch every single plane fly over the house with its wing lights flashing brightly against the night sky...

But then she'd been made of sterner stuff than most women are these days anyway and she'd ended up making out well financially after all those years of being married to him while nobody would take me seriously as a singer or actor after "Wildcat" got cancelled on NBC and even I didn't want me as their spokesman anymore after my career went downhill fast and far beyond what most people expect after they've been famous for even ten minutes (or however long it is).

But whatever she could take, no one else could take either so I guessed I wasn't really bitter about Sinatra's corpse being visible from anywhere in any state or country and causing me no end of trouble every time someone flew over my house for any reason whatsoever... And usually not for very good ones either.

-END-