Blue Like Elvis Read Online Free PDF Page A

I thought I did. There were only two
people on the planet that called me by that name: my brother, who was currently
overseas; and his ornery childhood friend, Tucker Thompson. A thousand memories
flashed through my mind, taking me back to my childhood before we left Memphis.
My brother Jimmy and his annoying friend Tucker, forever aggravating the life
out of me just for the fun of it. Sneaking up on me and scaring me so bad I’d
wet my pants. Prank-calling me, pretending to be my crush from school. Putting
worms in my Spaghetti-O’s and vinegar in my Kool-Aid.
    “Moonpie, is
that really you?”
    By now, Pamela had
turned around and was enjoying a good laugh. I closed my eyes, wishing I could
just fall through the floor and avoid this little reunion altogether. I blew
out my breath as I turned around to see the little creep—
    Only he wasn’t.
    He was tall and
all grown up and . . . oh my goodness, so incredibly handsome.
    Tucker
Thompson? Handsome?
    “Tucker?” I
said, having trouble finding my voice.
    “I can’t believe
it! It is you! How in the world are you, Moonpie!” He grabbed me into a
bear hug, squeezing what little breath I had left. At this rate, I was pretty
sure I’d be passed out on the floor soon.
    “Hi, Dr.
Thompson.” Pamela gave a little wave, smiling from ear to ear.
    “Hey, Pamela.
Nice to see you.”
    “Okay, somebody
tell me,” Pamela began. “How on earth did you ever come up with the name
‘Moonpie’?”
    Tucker stood
back, holding me at arm’s length. “You wanna tell her or do I?” he asked, as if
we were about to share the world’s best kept secret.
     I covered my
eyes with my hand. “No, by all means. You go right ahead.”
    “Well, let’s
just say Shelby here had a real passion for Moonpies when she was growing up.
Mrs. Colter used to buy them by the case for her little Shelby. She was the
cutest little thing you ever saw. Those dark raven curls dancing all over her
head, her eyes all narrowed just daring us not to bug her. But you would never,
and I mean never find little Miss RC here without a Moon Pie mustache.
Right there on those pouty little lips.” He drew an imaginary mustache just inches
from my face. If he’d touched me, I might have smacked him.
    “Tuck, do we
have to—”
    “Wait,
wait—’RC’?” Pamela asked, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Are those
initials or some kind of nickname?”
    “Those are my initials,” I explained. “My real name is Rayce
Catherine—that’s Rayce, spelled R-a-y-c-e. Dad preferred ‘RC’ to avoid some
unfortunate misunderstandings, which you might expect back in the early ‘60s . . .”
    “Ah,” Pamela said, figuring out the connection. “‘RC Cola and a Moonpie.
Got it. Every Southern kid’s favorite snack.”
    “Her brother
Jimmy was my best friend,” Tucker continued, unfortunately.
    Then again, it
did give me an opportunity to look him over. He still had the same chocolate
brown hair, still a shaggy mess. I’d forgotten the unusual color of his
eyes—almost a smoky caramel—now warmed with a permanent smile. But my oh my, he
was so tall! Had to be 6’3” or more? It felt so strange looking up to him. In
more ways than one.
     “ . . .
and Jimmy and I, we were inseparable. I practically lived at their house half
the time. And it was our sacred purpose in life to aggravate his kid sister
here as much as we could. And let me tell you, we were bad. ”
    “The stories I
could tell,” I moaned, still trying as best I could to avoid eye contact with
him.
    “Oh, the stories we could tell!” He laughed again with the same contagious laughter I
remembered all too well. I hated “Chubby Tucker,” which I’d called him for
years until it dawned on me it didn’t bother him a bit. But I could never stay
mad because he always made me laugh.
    “So, Moonpie,
what are you doing here? I thought you still lived in Birmingham?” He stepped
back, taking a good long look at me from head to toe.