Chicken A La King E-Book

heidi jacobsen

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

An Elvis Impersonator meets a farm girl from Iowa and takes on a fast food conglomerate in order to save the animals.

 

Ali is a farm girl from Iowa who meets Scott, an Elvis impersonator from Las Vegas. They fall in love.....

 

Sam Fullbein is known as the King Of Wings, a rich chicken mogul who will do everything to protect his secret recipe. His wife Mindy is a wealthy bored socialite, always in trouble with the paparazzi....

 

Mona Meredith is a sexy superstar devoted to saving chickens from the evil fast food conglomerate....

 

Scott and Ali take a trip across the country only to be followed by a private investigator as they battle against the evil fast food empire only to save a few chickens from their fate and discover each other.

 

Ali strode past the lounge where an Elvis impersonator was crooning "Suspicious Minds" to a crowd of white haired ladies in bright leisure clothes. He had a head of thick black hair and was wearing a white jumpsuit with multi-colored rhinestones in the front, with a white cape flowing in back and white shoes. 

Scott Raymond was in his late thirties and had been impersonating Elvis all his life. It started back in the seventies when he would watch Elvis movies on TV and listen to The King’s records. His dream was to become as rich and famous as the King. That dream was being fulfilled every day as he worked Vegas to crowds of seniors and die hard Elvis fans. Scott sang his heart out.

"We’re caught in a trap, I can’t walk out...Because I love you too much baby....Why can’t you see, what you’re doing to me...When you don’t believe a word I say....We can’t go on together, with suspicious minds....And we can’t build our dreams...On suspicious minds......"



Leseprobe

Heidi Jacobsen

Chicken A La King

The Conglomerate: Vegans and Vegas

Dedicated to abused animals in the world.BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Chicken A La King : The Conglomerate

Chicken A La King

Taxis sprinkled with gawking tourists crowded the Vegas strip. Ali walked along the littered sidewalk past the lounges, shops, sports bars and cafes that all offered air-conditioned interiors and escape from the unrelenting afternoon sun. Somewhere “Viva Las Vegas” played on a jukebox and sweat poured down her arms and the back of her neck in droplets. The Bellagio was just another block away, a mirage waiting ahead of her.

Ali Walker was a tall blonde with sparkling blue eyes and a long lean figure, which she hid, in baggy clothes. She had come to Vegas from rural Iowa, where she had left behind her dead end job in a cannery. Her parents were still back in Des Moines at the family farm and called her often to warn her of the perils of Sin City.

“Be careful dear!” her mother warned, “There are drug addicts and prostitutes there”. “I am careful Mother”, she retorted.

“Don’t worry”.

She left Iowa to escape the unbearable boredom she felt of living in a small town. She did miss the landscape there, the wide-open fields of corn rustling in the sun and the quiet night skies. She missed the prairie dogs burrowing into the earth at the end of the day. Las Vegas was a new harsh reality for her, a landscape of neon signs and bright lights, and she felt fuelled with lust and excitement each time she stepped out her door.

She had left behind her old boyfriend Chet, dependable sweet Chet. They had grown up together and had known each other their whole lives. He wanted to get married and settle down but her wanderlust was too strong, her drive too hard to ignore. She vowed she would write but she knew in her heart it was over. She had left Chet heartbroken.

She had a job at the Bellagio as a cocktail waitress. The manager of the casino Tony Fratelli had taken one look at her healthy blonde hair and her long lean legs and ushered her into the uniform department where a short Spanish woman looked up from the sewing machine. Tony handed her some clothing off a rack that looked quite minimal.

“Try this on, it’s about your size”, he urged, “Come out when you are dressed and I’ll take a look at ya.”

She squeezed into the short black mini skirt and aqua body stocking top. It was so tight and short! The seamstress came over to make adjustments.

“Perfecto,” the Spanish lady beamed.

She emerged from the dressing room where Tony Fratelli inspected her uniform. He had a smash in his face and crooked, thin lips. He was wearing a worn-out blue suit and had a pinkie ring with a fake blue stone in it. He looked at his book and penciled in some dates. He dragged on a cigarette. His voice was scratchy from smoking cigarettes.

“I’ll put you on from five to midnight, Monday to Saturday. Then once things start rocking I’ll give you an extra day off now and then. Is that okay with you Cookie?”

He stroked the seam of her skirt with his pudgy finger. He liked this one, so young and so innocent. That would change soon, he thought. Nobody who stayed in Vegas remained naive for very long. It was the only way to survive here.

“Nice...You’ll make lots of tips here, you are a very good-looking chick”.

“Thank you”. She blushed

“If there’s one thing I can’t stand its late waitresses, so be on time”.

“I will”.

So that was that. She had landed a job; she was on her way. Ali walked into the hotel, the air-conditioning hitting her like a ton of ice water, cooling her moist face. She strode past the lounge where an Elvis impersonator was crooning “Suspicious Minds” to a crowd of white haired ladies in bright leisure clothes. He had a head of thick black hair, was wearing a white jumpsuit with multi-colored rhinestones in the front, with a white cape flowing in back, and white shoes.

Scott Raymond was in his late thirties and had been impersonating Elvis all his life. It started back in the seventies when he would watch Elvis movies on TV and listen to The King’s records. His dream was to become as rich and famous as the King. That dream was being fulfilled every day as he worked Vegas to crowds of seniors and die-hard Elvis fans. Scott sang his heart out.

“We’re caught in a trap, I can’t walk out...Because I love you too much baby.... Why can’t you see, what you’re doing to me...When you don’t believe a word I say.... We can’t go on together, with suspicious minds.... And we can’t build our dreams...On suspicious minds...”

A flash of blonde hair caught his eye and he saw a tall, pretty woman wearing a cocktail waitress uniform walking briskly towards the casino. He spied on her, ah.... She must be new...He shook his hips for the crowd.

He caught her eye and winked at her. She waved back quickly and disappeared into the casino. The bling blings of a thousand slot machines buzzed in her ears. She picked up a tray and put on her badge. It read Ali Iowa.

“Ready for another night Miss Iowa?” asked Brittany Texas, a waitress on her shift.

“I’m ready”.

“Remember, chips are as good as cash.”

“Oh yes...”

“It’ll be busy tonight, there’s a convention in town. Tools.”

“Great. Have fun out there. And don’t forget to smile because it’s show time baby.”

Tony came around the corner, looking dark and moody.

“Okay ladies, enough chit chat, now get to work. Ali you cover section seven and eight by the $1.00 machines. Brittany gets on section fourteen over by the craps tables.”

They scattered and Ali scouted her section of the casino. She began her rounds.

“Cocktails, cocktails”...

Ali made her rounds serving cocktails to anxious slot players. As she handed out white wine and Bloody Marys her thoughts turned back to Iowa and to Chet. She remembered lying with Chet in the barn, him stroking her hair, telling her she was the most beautiful woman on earth. Oh, he had adored her so. She felt bad now, bad for leaving him. Sometimes she wondered if she had made the biggest mistake of her life not marrying him and having his babies.

Across the hotel the crowd broke into a huge applause as Scott wrapped up his show with “Jailhouse Rock”.

“The warden threw a party in the county jail.... The prison band was there and they began to wail...The band was jumping and the joint began to swing...You should’ve heard those knocked out jailbirds sing. Let’s rock everybody, let’s rock.... Everybody in the whole cell block...Was dancing’ to the jailhouse rock.”

It was a number that always got the crowd rocking and he liked to end his set on a high note. A white haired fan came up with a pad to get an autograph. She hugged him tightly. He flashed his Elvis smile at her.

“Well, hello darling...”“

“Oh you were so wonderful!” The fan gushed.

“Why thank you, and who should I make this out to?”

“Wendy”...

“Where are you from honey?”

“Buffalo”.

He scribbled on the pad: “To Wendy. Love Elvis.”

‘Here you go Wendy, and stop by the front to pick up my CD, its a great one and I think you will really enjoy it back in Buffalo.” “I will, I love you Elvis!”

And so, one after one they lined up for autographs and to purchase CD’s. Scott thrived on the attention and prided himself on being one of the best impersonators in Vegas. He was twenty-nine, and would be thirty, in two weeks. The crowd slowly drifted away and he wandered into the casino.

Ali was serving drinks to two gentlemen. One wore a black cowboy hat with jeans and boots and one a gray business suit. She balanced the beers on her tray. The man in the black cowboy hat threw a twenty-five dollar chip on her tray.

“Thanks”, she said.

He looked her up and down staring at her long legs and her breasts. He grabbed her arm.

“I’ll make that three hundred. I’m staying here at the hotel, room 2036...If you want to come up and party with me later...”

“No, I...Uh...Thanks anyway.”

Suddenly Scott appeared from around a slot machine, his white cape trimmed with gold sequins swinging wildly behind him. His expression was intense. He moved the man’s hand off her arm.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog, cryin’ all the time, you ain’t nothing but a hound dog, crying’ all the time...She’s with me buddy.”

The man backed off her. Ali smiled at Scott gratefully and the two men walked away.

“Thanks...I didn’t know what to do. I hate to be rude to a customer but....”

“That guy was a jerk. Believe me, I know the type”

“Well, you saved me, thanks.”

“Ah hell, it was nothing. I noticed you walking in tonight.”

“Yeah, I saw you doing your show. You’re really good”

“ God Bless you Ma’am! Are you new here?”

“Yes, I started last week.”

“My name is Scott, nice to meet you”.

“I’m Ali”.

“So, when’s your shift over?”

“Twelve.”

“Care for a shake later?”

“Sure”.

“See you at twelve”.

He disappeared around the corner and Ali had an eerie feeling that this was the start of something big in her life. She finished up her shift and got ready to leave. Tony Fratelli was watching her cash out.

“Have a good night Cookie?” he asked. “Yes, I made two hundred and fifty dollars”.

She held up a stack of cash for him to see.

“You’ll be doubling that once you learn the ropes kiddo. You have to learn how to work the customers.”

“Thanks - goodnight”.

“Hey, not so fast...Care to have a drink at the bar on me?”

“No thanks, I have to go.... Goodnight”.

“Sure, maybe some other time.”

Tony watched her walk away. She sure was a looker; he’d have to keep his eyes on her.

Ali and Scott walked into the Nascar cafe. The air was filled with electricity. Even though it was late night, gamblers were there in droves, commiserating over their losses and gloating over their winnings. They took a booth at the back. Some people stopped and stared when “Elvis” walked by.

“Hey Elvis, I’m all shook up Man” a Nascar fan commented. “Thank you, thank you very much” Scott retorted and shook his hips.

They sat down in a booth. Ali marveled how Scott managed to drift in and out of his “Elvis” persona.

“Thanks for saving me tonight,” she said.

“They don’t call me The King for nothing”.

“It happens all the time, men from out of town...”

“Yeah, they see a pretty girl like you and just assume they can buy her, like ordering a pizza.”

“I guess that’s true. So sad...”

“That’s Vegas Baby...So you’re from Iowa?” He gazed at her nametag

“Yes, from Des Moines. I lived on a farm out there all my life”.

“Vegas is quite a switch for you then”

“Yes, it’s a world away...Where are you from?”

“California”.

The waitress took their order for two vanilla shakes. Ali wondered about the person in front of her. He was an illusion of Elvis yet he seemed like a nice normal guy underneath the Mr. Showbiz facade.

Scott studied the woman child in front of him. She looked about seventeen years old with her long blonde hair hanging all over her face yet she carried herself like a mature woman.

“How old are you if you don’t mind me asking?” he inquired.

“I’ll be twenty-five in September.”

“You seem older but you look younger...If that makes any sense.”

“Years at a farm will do that to you, builds character”

“So what kind of farm were you on?”

“Well, my father loved horses so we had twelve of them, we had some chickens and a sheepdog named Chester. I miss him”

“Your parents still out there?

“Oh yes, they’re all worried about me being here by myself. They call it Sin City. It probably broke their hearts for me to leave them, but I had to leave.”

“Why?”

She suddenly looked sad.

“Because I probably would have died if I had stayed there.”

She stopped short of telling about Chet. No need to rush into sad stories about exes yet. She wondered why she was baring her heart to a total stranger. He seemed so kind and he was a good listener. She thought of Chet. He would be jealous if he knew she was out on a date with a man. Was that what this was? A date? The waitress appeared with two shakes and they toasted.