“Loved your performance. So real. The Elvis for all wannabe pretenders.”
After twenty-seven years of smoky taverns, dodgy managers and “Jailhouse Rock” he craves to shuck his crusted makeup, fake sideburns and black wig. Banish this raspy-voiced overweight imitator. Welcome a new Elvis. With soul.
What then? Rediscover his Alabama farmboy roots. Croon his childhood happiness.
A mascaraed matron enthuses: “My grandson, Rufus. Wonderful rubber-legs dancer. Sings like the King. A promising tribute artist.”
Smiling, Leroy hums gentle phrases of “Memories.”