As production began on Jailhouse Rock, there was one piece of work that Elvis was dreading: the dance sequence that accompanied the title song. As athletically as Elvis could move on stage, he was nervous about trying to execute some real Hollywood dance moves. The choreographer on the film, Alex Romero, was given a day to teach Elvis the steps, and I was with Elvis on that rehearsal day, in one of those classic dancestudio rooms with dance barres and mirrors along the walls.
Romero got right to work. He put on an acetate recording of “Jailhouse Rock” and went through the dance sequence, moving in a smooth, powerful style. When he finished, he looked to Elvis—who looked like his worst fears about dancing had come true. “Alex,” he said, “I can’t do that. It’s just not me. I’m a rock ’n’ roll guy—I can’t move like Gene Kelly.”“Will you try it?” asked Alex. “Sure, I can try, but I don’t think it’ll be worth a damn.” Alex cued up the record again and led Elvis through the steps. And Elvis was right: It wasn’t worth a damn. He just couldn’t make Alex’s moves seem natural for him. It looked like all of Romero’s work was going to have to be scrapped, leaving a hole where the dance sequence should be. Then the choreographer had a flash of inspiration. “Elvis—do you have some of your records over in your dressing room?” “Yeah.”
Romero sent me to get the records, which included Elvis’s latest number one, “All Shook Up.” While I was on that errand, the choreographer called the MGM sound department and had a speaker system and a microphone on a stand sent over to the dance studio. When the gear was set up, Romero turned back to us. “Okay, Elvis, here’s what I want you to do. George is going to play the music, and you get up like you’re onstage. Use the microphone, and show me what you do in concert.”
I played “Don’t Be Cruel” and “All Shook Up” and Elvis went through all the best moves he’d been using onstage while he was on tour—wind-milling his arms, working his hips and shaking his legs, snapping into dramatic poses in time with the music, and cutting loose with some knee slides on the floor. “I’ve got it,” said Romero, as the music came to an end. “Meet me back here tomorrow.” Elvis and I went back to that dance studio the next day, and I know he was still nervous about what to expect. But when Romero cued up “Jailhouse Rock” again and went through a new dance sequence, what we saw was a stroke of brilliance. Romero had taken all of Elvis’s natural stage moves and turned them into a routine that fit what needed to be done in the scene. Now when the choreographer stopped dancing, Elvis looked ready for action. “That’s me, man,” he said.“I can do that all day long.”
Summary: Ever since you were locked up in jail, everyone there immediately hated you. It wasn’t your fault for what you did, and you wished someone would understand that. The only problem? You were on the guys’ side of the prison because of your aggression. But maybe a green-eyed jail mate could help you prove that you didn’t deserve to be there…
Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of abuse, smoking, a little angst, some fluff, prison(?), thinking about sex, idk
A/N: I am literally so proud of this! I hope you like it! Part 2? (flashbacks in italic)
“Why the hell is she here?” one of the male inmates questioned the guard when the guard pushed you into your cell. He was obviously annoyed that he would have to bunk with a girl. Sexist asshole. “I though this was the guys side?”
“It is,” the guard told him as he locked what felt like a cage. “She was too violent for the women.” The guard smirked deviously before walking away.
And that was how you were welcomed on your first day in jail. A whiny inmate being sexist about bunking with a girl.
You rolled your eyes at the memory as you pressed your face against the fence, watching all the new inmates walk up. “Fresh meat,” you muttered to your friend, Paul, as you nudged his side.
“Size ‘em up and pick from the lot?” Paul asked, already scanning the men.
“You know me so well.” They began to walk past and you already scrapped a few, knowing that if you started a fight with the scrapped ones you would obviously never survive it.
You continued combing through the inmates until one caught your eye. “Hey, pretty boy!” you shouted to one of the men walking through. He definitely had a height advantage on you, but you knew you could beat him. He had bright green eyes and sandy short brown hair that was kind of spiked. Damn, he was attractive.
You were going to kick his ass.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawled as he stopped in front of you, licking his plush lips.
“you’re fresh meat, buddy. I don’t recommend calling one of the most dangerous prisoners here ‘sweetheart’. Got it? You’re gonna be my little bitch.”
He nodded nervously and the guard pushed him along, shooting you a glare as he pushed pretty boy forward. This was gonna be fun.
You sat at an un-populated table, your lunch tray in your hands as you sat down. You set the tray down and scanned the cafeteria, smirking when you saw those bright green eyes already looking at you.
“Dude,” Dean whispered, smacking Sam’s shoulder as he looked at you. Your Y/H/C hair was fanned across your shoulders, your ferocious Y/E/C orbs boring into Dean’s. Your beauty took his breath away, as well as your predatory gaze. ‘Damn,’ Dean thought to himself. ‘She is hot.’
“What?” Sam asked, following Dean’s gaze that ended at you. “Dude, stop ogling over the girl. She threatened you and you’re making bedroom eyes at her.”
“I always like me a dominating girl, Sammy.”
Sam rolled his eyes before stepping out of the lunch line, tray in his hands. “You’re insufferable.”
You watched the two men converse, both of their gazes on you. You pursed your lips and glared at them, only if looks could kill…
You were lost in your thoughts and were pulled back reality when the sound of a tray colliding with the table echoed throughout the cafeteria. You looked up at the source and felt anger boiling your blood when you saw those striking green eyes and pink lips. “What do you want?” you hissed, looking between the two men.
“Just want some company is all,” the green-eyed man explained before sitting down. The other man smiled sympathetically at you before sitting down as well. “I’m Dean,” pretty boy- Dean- told you. “This is my brother, Sam.”
“That’s nice, but I didn’t ask for your names.”
“You’re a feisty one aren’t ya?”
You rolled your eyes. “I would think so, considering I’m in her for murdering someone.” You smiled sweetly at him as his eyes widened.
“Wait, you’re Y/N Y/L/N?” Sam asked incredulously. “The one who-”
“Killed her boyfriend because he abused and she was tired of it? In the flesh.” You stood up and, leaving your food untouched at the table, left the cafeteria to go to the yard, leaving both boys with their jaws dropped.
“Was that what they said she did in the news?” Dean asked Sam once you left.
Sam shook his head and sighed. “They said she abused him and he tried defending himself, giving her those bruises for defense. No one would believe her argument against the statement because of her past history of aggression. The thing is, though, that it started right after she got together with her boyfriend. She built a wall around herself.”
Dean frowned and watched you disappear from sight, his heart breaking as he thought about how you once sued to be innocent and sweet before it was ruined by him.
Paul handed you a lit cigarette and you took it, holding it between your lips. “They were trying to be nice to me!” you sighed as you puffed smoke out, holding your cigarette between your index and middle finger. “Not many people do that for someone who was accused of abusing someone. Even if they didn’t do it.”
You watched Sam and Dean as they talked on the bleachers, a smile involuntarily tugging at your lips when Dean turned to look at you. You quickly averted your gaze to the sky and sucked in another puff of smoke before blowing it out, the toxic white smoke billowing around in the crisp air before dissipating. “It seems you’re taking a liking to them,” Paul teased as he nudged your arm.
You shook your head and chuckled, your tired eyes focused on the hazy blue sky above you. “It’s just nice that they wanted to talk to me, even if I was being a bitch to them.”
Dean smiled as he watched you avert your gaze to the sky before returning the cigarette to your lips. God, even smoking, you were still beautiful. “Dean, we need to figure out the case instead of staring at girls,” Sam prodded, disrupting Dean of his not-so-clean thoughts about you. About your soft, plump lips sucking on his skin before lowering- “Dean!”
“Sorry,” Dean muttered, switching his gaze from you to his obviously-annoyed brother. “What about the case?”
Sam groaned in annoyance. “The ghost. We need to find out where she’s buried. Maybe our lawyer can do some research on it?”
Dean nodded absentmindedly, watching a smile spread on your face at one of your friend’s remarks. “Y-yeah, you wanna do that?”
“Fine.” Sam stood up and began to walk away before stopping. “By the way, Dean, she’s staring at you.”
You pushed the slop they called mashed potatoes around on your plate as you grimaced. “Not gonna eat your goulash?” Dean joked as he sat down next to you, eyeing your food.
“It looks like jizz,” you muttered as you scooped up some onto your fork, close to gagging as you watched it dribble down the fork. You dropped the fork onto the plate and wiped your hands on your bright orange uniform.
“Don’t you have a vivid mind.” You rolled your eyes and leaned one elbow on the table, resting his cheek on his fist. “Why are you talking to me now?”
“Because I want to. And I can.”
Dean shrugged. “Fair enough.” You couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped your lips as you smiled softly. God, what was he doing to you?
“Where’s your brother?”
“Talking to our lawyer.”
You nodded and picked up your chicken. “Want my food?”
“Hell yes.” Dean took the chicken from your hand and took a bite.
“How can you eat this crap?”
“I was raised on the road, living in motels and eating at cheap diners. Let me tell you, this food isn’t even half as bad as some of the food we ate before.”
you laughed and you both continued to talk until Dean finished his meal and yours. You both stood up and walked to the door that led to the yard. Your walk was cut off, though, when Dean ran right into one of the worst people you could ever run into, Ron. He was 6 foot 7 with quite a bit of muscle on him. “Sorry,” Dean muttered as he slowly backed away to where you were standing.
Ron chuckled and grabbed Dean by his collar, making everyone go silent. Ron threw Dean to the ground and you watched as Ron started to walk over to Dean. “He said he was sorry, fucknugget!” you shouted at Ron as he raised his foot directly over Dean’s ribs.
Ron froze and turned to you, your arms crossed over your chest. “What did you just say to me?” he roared, stomping over to you.
You smirked at him, a violent fire in your eyes. “I said, Dean said he was sorry, fucknugget.” Dean looked at you incredulously and you winked at him before feeling a fist make contact with your gut. Ron smirked and, without a second thought, you grabbed his fist, twisted it behind his back so his arm was between his shoulder blades, and pinned him to the ground. You pulled his forearm to the side until you heard the familiar snapping of a bone. You snarled at him before standing up, smiling as you saw everyone’s eyes widened and their jaw dropped, even Dean’s.
“Alright, young lady,” one of the guards scolded as he grabbed both of your wrists and cuffed you. “You three are gonna have a blast in your new cells. Come on.”
Two other guards cuffed Ron and Dean and they all walked you to the cells. “Why the hell did you do that?” Dean asked you when he started walking right next to you.
“Because you’d be dead if I didn’t,” you whispered to him before they threw you in your cell, taking your cuffs off before stepping out and locking the cell.
‘She saved my life,’ Dean though to himself as he looked through the slot in his cell, looking towards your cell. ‘I have a crush on a prisoner. Great.’
“I wish I had a baseball,” Dean admitted.
“What?” Ron asked.
“I said, I wish I had a baseball. So I could have something to do in here.”
“Oh yeah? Well, I wish I had a baseball bat so I could bash your friggin’ head in!”
“Oh, eat a dick, Ronald!” you shouted to him and Dean smiled, chuckling softly.
‘God, I am in deep.’
You rested your head against the cold wall of the cell, humming softly. You closed your eyes and thought of those bright green eyes, soothing you into a temporary slumber. That is, until you heard a scream.
Your eyes flew open as you scrambled over to the slot, peering outside. “Dean!” you yelled. “What’s going on?”
“Ron!” Dean yelled, followed by an agonizing scream, followed by the sound of flesh being torn. You winced and covered your ears, rocking back and forth. You winced as the screaming continued, your heart beating in your chest as tears pricked at your eyes. Then everything was silent.
Elvis’s first order of work was to record his new film’s soundtrack. Songwriters Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller—who had a string of hits such as “Kansas City,” “Searchin’,” and
the Elvis smash “Hound Dog”— were developing the movie material for Elvis, and, in a departure from the way Elvis sessions were usually run, the writers would be present in
the room as Elvis recorded their songs. At first, the pair didn’t seem to be particularly thrilled about working with Elvis. But when they got a sense of how hard he was willing
to work and how much he knew about favorite artists they had in common — such as Ray Charles and Ruth Brown — Leiber, Stoller, and Elvis began to work as a powerhouse team.
The first thing to be worked on was the theme song Leiber and Stoller had come up with, “Jailhouse Rock.” The movie to be made was still being called Jailhouse Kid, to
distinguish it from some of the quickie rock ’n’ roll films that were being cranked out at the time: Rock, Pretty Baby; Don’t Knock the Rock; Rock, Rock, Rock. But when Elvis ripped
into what Leiber and Stoller had written for him, it was clear to everybody at the session, and quickly clear to everybody at MGM, that this song was one of Elvis’s finest
performances and destined to be his next number-one hit. (It was.) So, after one day’s work, Jailhouse Kid was out and Jailhouse Rock was in. I got goosebumps watching the
way Elvis threw himself into the song, and I felt that a rock ’n’ roll song just couldn’t be packed with more energy and excitement than what Elvis put into that one.
Elvis photographed with Mike Stoller and Jerry Leiber, 1957.