You Make Me Feel So Dead by Robert Randisi Page A

you like that,’ Jerry said.
    â€˜It has its moments,’ I admitted.
    I presented myself at the front desk and announced that I was there to see Elvis Presley.
    â€˜Eddie Gianelli.’
    The clerk was a young guy who didn’t recognize my name. He must have been new.
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ he said, ‘I have you on the approved visitor list.’ He looked up at Jerry. ‘And you, sir?’
    â€˜He’s with me.’
    â€˜That may be, sir, but I can’t allow him to go up unless he’s on the list.’
    â€˜Well,’ I said, ‘call the room and ask Mr Presley.’
    â€˜I can’t disturb—’
    â€˜Look,’ I said, ‘I’m expected, and I’m not going up without my friend. Now, do you want to tell Mr Presley or his people that you wouldn’t let me up?’
    â€˜Well, no sir, but—’
    â€˜Call … or call Tommy.’
    â€˜Tommy?’
    â€˜Tommy Harper? The concierge here?’
    â€˜You’re friends with Mr Harper?’
    â€˜Very good friends.’
    â€˜Just a minute, sir.’
    He picked up the phone and called Tommy, grateful for an alternative to having to call Elvis’ suite.
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ I heard him say, ‘he says he’s here to see Elvis and he’s a friend of yours. Uh-huh, Eddie Gianelli. Yes, sir. Thank you.’
    He hung up and looked at us.
    â€˜Mr Harper will be right with you.’
    â€˜Thank you.’
    We stepped away from the desk to wait.
    â€˜What an idiot,’ Jerry said. ‘He don’t know who you are.’
    â€˜Lots of people don’t know who I am, Jerry.’
    â€˜Naw, that ain’t true, Mr G.,’ Jerry said. ‘Only the idiots.’
    Tommy appeared in moments, walking across the lobby with purposeful strides. His red hair looked redder than ever, and he had that ‘what, me worry?’ Alfred E. Neuman look on his face.
    â€˜Geez …’ Jerry said.
    â€˜I know.’
    â€˜He looks just like that
Mad
magazine guy.’
    â€˜I know.’
    â€˜Geez …’
    I wondered how he’d look in twenty years or so, when he went grey – or bald?
    â€˜Eddie, what the hell …?’ Tommy started.
    â€˜This is legit, Tommy,’ I said. ‘Elvis is waiting for me.’
    â€˜Yeah, but who’s this guy?’
    â€˜Tommy, meet Jerry Epstein,’ I said, ‘a friend of mine from Brooklyn.’
    â€˜Brooklyn?’
    Tommy was of the opinion that everybody from Brooklyn was a gangster. Looking at Jerry did nothing to disabuse him of that belief.
    â€˜Yeah, hello.’
    â€˜Hi.’
    Tommy leaned in and whispered, ‘You wanna take him up with you?’
    â€˜I do.’
    â€˜But—’
    â€˜I think you’ll find that any friend of mine is a friend of Elvis’,’ I said. ‘Call him and ask.’
    â€˜Call Elvis?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜I’m supposed to wait until he calls me.’
    â€˜OK, look,’ I said, ‘I’ll go to a house phone and call him myself.’
    â€˜Whataya gonna tell ’im?’
    â€˜Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I won’t tell him that you and your clerk gave me a hard time. I’ll just tell him I’m here and I want to bring Jerry up with me. OK?’
    â€˜Yeah, yeah, OK,’ Tommy said. ‘That sounds good. The house phones are over here.’
    â€˜I know where the house phones are, Tommy,’ I said, but he walked us over to them, anyway.
    I picked up the receiver and asked to be connected to Elvis Presley’s room.
    â€˜Sir,’ the operator said, ‘I’m only supposed to put through people who are on the approved list.’
    â€˜I’m on the list,’ I assured her. ‘Eddie Gianelli.’
    â€˜Mr Gianelli,’ she said, as if she recognized my name, ‘yes, sir, I’ll put you through.’
    â€˜Thank you.’
    The phone rang and after