Rick Wilson's The Man Who Would Be Elvis, part 3: Introducing Roddy the Body

Often compared to de Vito because of his roundness and Big Apple twang, Sam Fantoni was not used to failure. Under his blue New York Yankees baseball cap was a red velvet suit and a not-easily-beaten character. But here at the hospital, with his broken star, he was on the edge of panic. And on the phone: “Ain’t no time to find a top guy, so what do we do? Wipe the whole tour?”

“Find somebody local,” said the boss’s PA.

The US promotion company had barely got into its morning stride when faced with this dilemma. From high in a New York skyscraper, Cathy Ryder insisted: “You’ll find one. They’re everywhere. Like a plague of locusts. Just train him up fast.”

“Somebody local?” Sam exploded. “Jeez, what if he just ain’t up to it?”

“Reckon you gotta come clean with the fans. We gotta problem here but YOU guys came up with the solution in your amazingly talented Whatever-his-name-is.”

“Like who then, in God’s name?”

“Let me ask the Google god.” A pause, then: “How about this Scotland-based Johnny Lee Memphis guy? He’s won a whole lotta Elvis contests, even here in the States. Make them Scots feel proud we’re celebrating their guy.”

“Could be booked out.”

“Just try it.”

Sam sighed, then retook the air to present the next poser. “One more thing.”

“Yeah? Make it quick.”

“What about Krish? He can’t walk or even fly. For maybe even 12 weeks. That’s more than the whole tour. Do we put him up in a hotel or what? He’s already gonna cost us medical expenses before we hit the insurers.”

“Sorry, no hotel for a duration like that, Sam. Byeee...”

He sighed, googled the name listed as Johnny Lee Memphis’s representative, and called him: “Is that Ken Maybury?”

“The very one,” came the breezy reply.

“Sam Fantoni here.”

“I know of you. The big Elvis tour. In Edinburgh this week. How can I help?”

“To put it kinda bluntly, we’ve lost our third Elvis. Broken leg. We need another. Here and now and fast. The show must go on tomorrow. And the next night. We have in mind your Johnny Lee Memphis.”

Sam noticed that the stubby fingers of his left hand were crossed. As were his stubby legs, though that could have been his need for another kind of John.

“Sorry, he’s off on a cruise gig for three weeks, as of today.”

“Shit. Got anybody else?”

A four-second pause was followed by a slow, careful “Well, yeah, maybe I might...”

“Who?”

“He’s a bit raw, but pretty damned good, I’d say.”

“You would say that, though, wouldn’t you? What’s the name?”

“Roderick Kirkwood. Or Roddy for short. Or Roddy the Body if you like.”

Ken laughed at his own rhyming inspiration, but Sam was too intensely focused to even smile.

“How can I see him?”

“I just happen to have a wee video.”

Ken’s filming of Roddy’s Churchill Theatre debut might be paying off already. “Not in Elvis gear, though he does have a good white Belew jumpsuit. I’ll ping you the movie if you like.”

“I like. Do that. Right now.”

Ten minutes later, the Maybury phone buzzed again. “Hi, it’s Sam.”

“You got it? What d’you think?”

“Send the guy over to Edinburgh right now.”

“He lives in Edinburgh.”

“Great! The Playhouse Theatre. Within the hour. We’ll be waiting. To give him a short try-out tonight before we sign him up...probably. Then serious rehearsals tomorrow morning.”

The telly was droning on but Roddy wasn’t hearing a word. Lying back on the couch with Shep’s head on his lap, he was glad just to be reheated, watching the snow falling outside. He’d almost forgotten career cares when... his phone startled him. “Roddy here!” he said with an edginess unappreciated by the caller.

“Ken here!” he mimicked. “The Playhouse.”

“What about it?” asked Roddy, suddenly sitting up straight.

“Be there within the hour.”

“Why?”

“Chance of a lifetime, no less. So get your effing skates on, my boy. Literally if necessary.”

“Why?”

“The three-star show has lost its third Elvis. Badly broken leg. I’ve managed to sell you as a replacement prospect, but they wanna test you right now. Well, within the hour.”

“Am I dreaming?” he asked.

“It’s a dream job if that’s what you mean.”

“Are you serious? Is this some kind of practical joke? Don’t be cruel.”

“I’m serious. But I can’t hold your hand. Ask for Sam Fantoni at the back door. He’s got the other two tribute guys, the band and singers all set up for a try-out with you. Just be there.”

Roddy’s fingers shook with sudden, adrenalin-powered excitement as he dismissed Ken’s call with a brief “okay” and pressed the numbers for a cab. In the time it would take to arrive, he’d look out the white suit that Angus had obviously spent thousands on. Then be on his way.

In more ways than one...

Tomorrow: Scotland’s New King

The Man Who Would Be Elvis by Rick Wilson, published by [email protected], is available from Amazon at £6.99 here

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