It all started on that sweltering summer day in Las Vegas. I just turned twenty and had an up and coming position at the local Dairy Queen. I was in charge of the deep fry. The year was 1956 and I was temporarily replacing they guy who called in sick so I was stuck covering his position at the drive through order window.
An impatient fellow drove up and upon seeing an empty window, honked his horn several times to get my attention.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” I said. “Hold your horses. I’m coming already.” I pulled the chicken out of the deep fry and sat it on the counter to cool. When I turned around I met one hell of an eyesore. Outside the window was a long pink Cadillac convertible. I laughed as I walked up and stuck my head out the window to get me a better look at this monstrosity of the automobile world.
The driver watched me eye his vehicle from one end to the other. “Ain’t she a beaut? I just got her a few days ago. This baby purrs like a kitten.”
“That she is,” I replied, remembering what my manager told me about the customer always being right. I couldn't help but wonder how this kid that was my age could be driving such an automobile, then I recognized him.
He told me his order and I quickly got it ready and packaged. I walked up to the window and handed him the food. “There you go. Enjoy,” I said, but this guy kept staring at me like I did something wrong. “Sorry, did I forget something in your order sir?”
“Actually no. I just noticed how much you look like me.” He leaned a little back to get a different angle view. “Hey, how would you like a job?” he asked.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I got one here.”
“Yeah, I see that. You must be raking in the doe eh?” He stared at my Dairy Queen hat holding back his laughter. “Look kid. I need someone just like you to pretend to be me for one week, see? I’m currently booked at the Venus Room at the New Frontier Hotel. I’m billed as the Atomic Powered Singer. I’m sure you have heard of me.”
“Uh huh,” I replied, not wanting to disappoint the kids ego.
“Hey!” he pointed at me. “I like that. Can I use that in my gig?” he inquired.
“Use what?” I asked.
“The uh huh. It will make me sound like a rebel. Like I don’t care. It really fits me.” He continued to repeat the two sounds over and over again. He turned up the radio when he realized it was his own song. “Hey, I sang that! Kinda weird hearing on the radio and all.” He looked back at me. “Look the job pays $500 for the week, take it or leave it. All you have to do is walk around the hotel waving, nodding at fans. God knows I need to get out of this town for a while. I’m thinking about visiting my folks back Memphis, Tennessee.”
I couldn’t believe my luck. It was more money than I would make in six months of deep frying. “Well…”
“Alright, you broke me down. You can also put all your meals, drinks and bets on my tab at the hotel. Tough job having people slave over you hand and foot.”
“Okay, when do I start?” I almost couldn’t believe my luck. This sounded too good to be true, but I figured I was getting burned out from the Dairy Queen and it might be my time to move on to greener pastures.
“How long will it take to take that silly hat of your head?” he asked with a half grin.
I flung off the hat and tossed it on the floor. I still had on my apron when I pushed open the glass door and exited the Dairy Queen, followed by the manager.
“Where do you think you are going young man?” asked the manager in a stern voice.
“To make a hell of a lot more than 35 cents an hour!” I whipped off the apron and tossed it at him, jumping into the passenger seat of the pink Cadillac convertible.
