Can't Help Falling in Love (19 page)

    
He gazed into her eyes with an intense longing that was strange and wonderful.
Allison could not believe how much she was enjoying being with him, and wearing
his promise ring felt like the fulfillment of a fantasy. She had not intended
for this to happen, but for the moment, she was happier than she had ever been,
glad to be holding hands with the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life
with. She was more wildly attracted to him than ever before, and she knew she had
to do something to control the impulses she felt. He clearly returned the
feelings, and she was sure that their love would stem from a strong, mutual
bond of irresistible adoration and friendship.

    
The rest of the evening passed in a happy haze of laughter, shared dreams,
vows, and some of the most delicious food east of the great river. The future
opened up to both of them as one enormous, spellbinding adventure that they
would be taking together, as they embarked down a time-worn path that all lovers
before them had taken through the ages. They both wished that the night would
go on forever, and they knew that no matter what path loomed before them, no
roadblock would ever separate them nor erase the cherished bliss of those
unforgettable hours.

    
No sooner had they left and were outside in his car than they were again
trailed by the same two men in a dark sedan. This time, the two young lovers
noticed them during a series of turns when they were followed too closely in a
way that could not have been explained as mere coincidences. 

    
Allison asked, “Is there any reason you know of why you might be followed?”

    
“None,” he said, observing the car in his rear view mirror.

    
She sighed and said, “I was afraid of that.”

    
“Who do you think they are?”

    
“Have you ever heard of the Memphis Mafia?”

   
 
“Yeah.
There’ve been rumors about some men who
seem to be moving into the music business here. ”

    
“They may be following me.”

    
He scrutinized them again in his rear view mirror. As they neared a freeway
exit ramp, he said, “Watch this . . . .”

  
  Without touching his brakes, he allowed gravity to slow his car’s
speed by about ten miles per hour, and then as he was about to pass the exit
and the sedan was nearly on his bumper, he suddenly swung the steering wheel to
the right and swerved off the freeway and down the ramp so abruptly that the
sedan was unable to follow. The last they saw of the sedan was when the vehicle
became ensnared in traffic that snaked far away from them into the
distance.   

    
Sunday arrived like an unopened Christmas gift, a day that promised to be one
of the most memorable in Allison’s life. She spent hours being groomed for her
appearance at the
AIM
Awards, including two hours at a hair
salon to have her long red hair teased into luscious waves. All the while, she
was more anxious about the
The
Ed Sullivan Show
broadcast than her own moment in the
spotlight
.    
   

    
Preparations for the live broadcast were in full swing early Sunday morning
before dawn. Karen’s photo mural had been set up in the WFBB-TV lobby, and the
studio had been carefully staged so that the band would be juxtaposed against a
background that depicted a long line of male guitar players shown only in dark
silhouettes against a contrasting backdrop of blazing light. The stunning
visual effect had been calculated to set the band’s image as an iconic example
of current Rock ‘n’ Roll singers that were sweeping radio airwaves. They knew
they would have only three minutes to cement the image into the minds of all
Americans, not to mention the annals of television history.

    
Although WFBB-TV had locked down their building to prevent outsiders from
infiltrating the broadcast, Allison and Karen were allowed in due to their
involvement with the band, but once they had offered their advice, they quietly
hovered on the sidelines behind the cameras and let the professional
technicians take over. Allison looked magnificent, even though she had not yet
dressed in her new evening gown, which was hanging in one of the studio
dressing rooms. She would change clothes there, right after the broadcast, and
then dash to the Peabody Hotel in time to make her grand entrance.  

    
The entire morning, the director rehearsed the cameramen and the band together
in order to get their positions and movements timed with pinpoint accuracy. So
much work for a mere fleeting moment of time on television! Since the broadcast
would be live, every element had to be perfect. Four cameras with different
lenses glided back and forth in front of and in the midst of the band, picking
up their performance from a variety of angles that would give the broadcast a
profound visual flair. They hoped people would talk about their achievement for
years to come.   

    
By mid-day, everyone took a well-deserved lunch break outside in the nippy air.
A fenced patio behind the studio played host to a weenie roast of hotdogs with
all the trimmings. There were even marshmallows to roast over the open fire
pit. Everyone had hearty appetites, but what they really desired was to get
back to work and make sure that they were doing their best for the one moment
of time during which they would become the focal point of the entire industry.

    
After lunch, the band rehearsed their song several more times, and then the
real fun began. As the clock inched toward evening, every member of the band
except their lead singer submitted to all new haircuts. The studio’s hairdresser
carefully cut and combed their hair into a pompadour style that had just become
all the rage with high school boys. She achieved the look by using generous
amounts of pomade on their coifs to elevate their hair in front and give them a
“duck's tail" in the back. They were all outfitted in new tight blue jeans
with the cuffs rolled up on the outside of matching black patent leather
motorcycle boots, and their outfits were topped by tight white t-shirts and
black leather motorcycle jackets with chrome zippers that glistened under the
glaring lights. Their look was planned to contrast with the lead singer, who
was dressed in a shocking gold
lamé
suit that would reflect the glare of
spotlights with his every movement.  

    
Allison and Karen took positions in the director’s booth, where he and a couple
of other men sat hunched over an electronic board covered with dials and a bevy
of monitors that showed every camera angle. They went over their cue sheets,
repeatedly discussing each camera and when they would cut from one person to
another. Allison and Karen could see the stage through the plate glass window
separating them, and they could clearly see the band’s image on each monitor.

    
By
six
thirty
, everyone
in the studio was on pins and needles and their heartbeats were all pounding in
unison. The singer and the band took their positions on their marks on the
stage beneath the hot lights. The director called for one more run-through as a
dress rehearsal, and when they went through the song, every technical element
clicked off with clock-like precision.

    
During a network station break, an announcer appeared on screen. “Ladies and
gentlemen, an historic event will be taking place tonight. Coming to you live
on
The
Ed Sullivan Show
and
broadcasting from
Memphis
,
Tennessee
. . . .”

    
No one in the studio actually heard him announce the name of the singer or the
title of their hit record that was selling out in record stores each day as
fast as new stock arrived, even though the announcer’s words were piped in to
every room in the building through the loudspeaker system. They had become too
excited to soak in the announcement, having worked so hard all day to arrive at
that one moment in time. They all became lost in the giddy moment. Even some of
the men were misty-eyed, knowing that the public was being informed for the
first time about the momentous event that would soon occur within the tiny
studio that had become, for the hour, the heartbeat of
Memphis
.

    
The makeup lady had to rush onstage to mop the brows of the band, which were
sweating beneath the heat of the floodlights, as the clock on the studio wall
inched closer to the top of the hour.

    
The hairdresser also came out on stage and joined her to fuss with the lead
singer’s hair. “It’s the light and the heat!” she complained. “It keeps making
the front come loose and this one lock won’t stay in place!”

    
“Jus’ leave it,
ma’m
. Thanks for your concern, but
it’ll probably come down when I start moving around anyway,” he said.

    
The director leaned into a microphone and said over the loudspeaker, “He’s the
boss. Leave the curl. The girls in
Iowa
will love it when their boyfriends
imitate it tomorrow.”

    
One technician on the telephone with the network shouted, “Ratings are going
up! It’s as if people all over the nation are turning their sets to the network
in anticipation of their appearance!”

    
Every eye would soon see them. They were under the glare of national scrutiny!
Outside, the first car with fans careened into a parking space. Out jumped a
flock of teenagers, who ran to the studio entrance. Within another minute,
several more cars arrived and more young people piled out. One girl ran to a
telephone booth outside the studio, probably to call her friends, who would call
their friends, who would then call their friends. The studio doors were opened
to admit them all until the lobby filled up with fans.

    
By five minutes before seven, Allison could stand the tension no longer.
Although she and Karen were off to one side of the control booth and not a part
of the presentation, they were so in the thick of things that every movement of
every person tugged at her nerves. They were mere minutes away from the moment
when network editors would switch to the live feed from their studio.

    
A camera had been positioned on the far side of the lobby to pick up a few
seconds of footage during the introduction. Nearly a hundred people, young and
old, had suddenly converged and surrounded the camera that was pointed squarely
on the cardboard cutout Karen had put together.

    
The director kept watching the clock in the control room. The hands seemed to
have frozen at three minutes to seven and would not move, but then the big hand
suddenly jumped to two minutes before seven.

    
“Two minutes . . . .” he announced in his microphone.

    
In the lobby, an assistant who was to hold up one of the band’s 45 rpm singles
close to the camera lens and then pull the record aside on cue took his
position. He raised the record up to the lens. The cameraman focused.

    
Inside the control room, the image of the record appeared on one of the
monitors, ready for the director to cut to the shot.

    
Allison took a deep breath and looked anxiously at Karen.

    
Karen nodded toward the studio floor and whispered, “See how calm he is?”

    
“I wish I was!” Allison whispered back fretfully.

    
She looked at him, standing there composed and unruffled, and then he looked up
and saw her. He waved at her, and then loosed his hands from the guitar
dangling on a strap around his neck and pointed to his ring finger and then
back to her.

    
“My promise ring!”
Allison whispered to Karen. “He
wants to know if I’ve got it on!”

    
She raised her hand and pointed to the ring. He saw and smiled.

    
“Sixty seconds!” the director said.

    
One of the monitors on the control board showed what was airing on the network.
The opening credits for
The Ed Sullivan Show
came on along with the theme music.
After twenty seconds, the shot dissolved to the New York Theater where the
famous host appeared on stage in front of huge curtains. “Thank you, ladies and
gentlemen,” he began. “Welcome to our show. We have a really big show for you
tonight, beginning with our introduction of The King of Rock ‘n’ Roll, the singer
who has made blue suede shoes one of the most popular icons of the new music
scene . . . .”

    
Inside the
Memphis
control booth, the director said into
his microphone “Five seconds!”

    
Outside the studio in the lobby, the crowd began to cheer wildly. No one heard
the rest of Sullivan’s announcement, but an assistant cued the cameraman, who
kept the 45 rpm record sharply in focus for a few seconds before panning up to
the uproarious crowd gathered in front of the photo cutout of the band. Everyone
heard the band strike the opening notes of their song and a crescendo of hoots
and hollers overfilled the lobby.

    
“Cut to camera one,” the director said.