Elvis and Ginger: Elvis Presley's Fiancée and Last Love Finally Tells Her Story (12 page)

After that, whenever I was tired from trying to keep up with his schedule, I made sure to stifle my yawns whenever I was around him.

•   •   •

Elvis had given me a little spending money. While Lisa was visiting, I asked if I could take her shopping, since I hadn’t really had a chance to be alone with her, and he said yes.

Waking early, I got Lisa and took her downstairs. She had shown a genuine fondness for shoes and later, if mine went missing, I would find her wearing them. I decided a shoe store would be a treat for her.

We entered a shoe store in the hotel and, in the midst of me trying on a pair of pumps, I looked over and saw Lisa seated on the floor. She was surrounded by shoes she had removed from various display racks.

As Lisa began trying some of them on, I walked over to her. “Lisa, these are ladies’ shoes and too big for you,” I said.

She looked up at me and said, “That’s okay. I’ll grow into them.”

I had to laugh, because she was right.

We continued on, visiting other stores in the hotel. A couple passing by stopped us at one point. “Is that Elvis’s daughter?” they asked.

“Yes,” I said, startled. Although Lisa resembled her dad, it hadn’t even entered my mind that someone could possibly recognize her, especially if she was with me. I had underestimated the keen interest of Elvis’s fans.

We ran into the pilot Milo soon after that, and he kindly offered to drive Lisa and me in my Continental to do some shopping outside the hotel. I knew our time was limited before Elvis woke, but I thought it would be fun to go around Las Vegas for the first time, especially in my new car.

Lisa and I made our way to the Hilton entrance and in a few minutes, Milo pulled up in the Continental. Lisa climbed into the middle of the front seat. I got in beside her and shut the door, still in disbelief that this gorgeous car was actually mine!

Milo drove us to the MGM Grand Hotel and waited while Lisa and I browsed inside. Carefully keeping track of time, I ended our shopping at a store that had large barrels of candy and let Lisa fill small bags with some goodies.

It was nice spending time with Lisa. She was a sweet little girl, close to my niece’s age, and I hoped we would become friends.

Upon our return to the Hilton, Elvis was awake and, much to my surprise, displeased that we’d gone out. He didn’t recall telling me that I could take Lisa. “You should never have gone out without a bodyguard,” he reprimanded.

I was a little hurt. I explained that I would never have taken her without his permission. This new world I’d entered into was something I definitely wasn’t used to navigating.

Sensing my feelings, Elvis delicately repeated, “Just next time, make sure you take a bodyguard.”

It dawned on me then that one of the daily fears Elvis lived with was that someone might kidnap his daughter. “I will,” I said.

Lisa visited off and on in the suite as often as she could in between Elvis’s schedule. She stayed only a few more days, but when she flew back to Los Angeles, I was sure a large piece of Elvis’s heart went right along with her.

Elvis liked having me with him anytime he wasn’t performing or discussing business. This fact, along with my shy nature, meant that other than a casual hello, I didn’t talk much with the many other people who were always swirling around him.

On occasion, I’d see a few women chatting together out in the living room of Elvis’s suite close to showtime, but they kept their distance. In part, I think this was because I was identified as “Elvis’s girl,” but I was also younger than most of them and inclined to keep to myself. I’m sure the other women were trying to figure out what to make of me.

One of them, a friendly Hawaiian who accompanied Charlie, made an effort to speak with me. I thought she resembled Elvis’s ex-wife, Priscilla; others must have thought the same thing, because one night someone mistook this woman for Priscilla as I was accompanying her from the showroom to the ladies’ room. I thought this was ironic because a fan had mistaken me for Priscilla, too, and this woman and I didn’t really look alike.

Overall, though, I was left pretty much on my own. I was acutely aware of having this incredible experience, but with no one around who I really knew or felt comfortable enough to share it with, I sometimes wished one of my close friends were with me. I had checked in once with my family early on but it was impossible to describe over the phone just what I was experiencing.

Elvis managed to perform his next show despite still experiencing enough pain in his leg that he even mentioned it to the audience while he was onstage. The pain was definitely starting to interfere with his singing; at one point, he asked a couple of his backup singers to perform without him so he could rest.

Back inside the penthouse that night, he summoned Larry and Charlie to our bedroom. When they arrived, Elvis told me he wanted Larry to perform a “healing” on his leg.

I had no idea what this meant, but from that moment on, I was soon plunged into the literature and practice of both psychic healing and self-healing. Larry and Elvis were firm believers in this. I was open-minded, but my only experience had been with traditional medicine. However, being with Elvis, I would soon witness some things happen around him, and start wondering if perhaps he was right, and that maybe God did instill in us the ability to heal ourselves, if we could concentrate hard enough.

That night, as Elvis and Larry explained how psychic healing worked and what they were about to do, I understood why Elvis had asked for Larry’s presence the previous night. As Larry explained, if a person was in pain and concentrated on a healing color in the area where the pain was, they or others could help heal the injured area or, at the very least, make the pain subside.

Elvis and Larry went on to explain the correlation between colors and spiritual healing. Green was the healing color; yellow, the Christ color; purple, the God color; and so on. As bizarre as this all sounded to me that night, I was curious to see what would happen next. So far, with Elvis almost anything seemed possible. Why not this, too?

Charlie closed the bedroom door and Larry began lighting candles, placing them in various areas around us. He then turned off the lights.

In the dimly lit room, Elvis lay down on his stomach across the bed while Charlie and I stood to one side and watched. It was exceptionally quiet. Then Larry asked each of us to imagine a golden light over Elvis’s leg, and to channel all of our thoughts and energy into that visualization. I understood the golden color to be a Christ color, but figured it must also be for healing. I also guessed that Larry wanted Charlie and me to be there because the more energy that was focused on healing, the better it might work.

As Larry began to alternately massage or hold his hand over the muscle in the back of Elvis’s leg, I focused intensely on that area. I wasn’t aware of how much time passed, but whether it was just the effect of the candles or an actual phenomenon, I thought I saw a soft golden glow radiate from beneath Larry’s hand.

When Larry had finished, he turned the lights back on and blew out the candles. Elvis stood up, took a tentative step and said his leg felt better.

Had I just witnessed a true psychic healing? Clearly, Elvis and Larry believed so. Did I?

Common sense made me question this. Yet, another part of me had always believed in the power of faith. I had just witnessed Elvis have pain and now I’d heard him say, “I feel better.”

As unbelievable as this seemed, if this mystical type of healing had indeed given Elvis some relief, that’s what mattered most to me.

•   •   •

After Larry and Charlie left, Elvis began telling me about a breathing technique he had learned while studying martial arts. Elvis believed that, if done correctly, this technique would enable an individual to move objects without touching them, using mental energy alone.

“Show me,” I said.

Elvis walked over to a section of the bedroom curtains and placed his palm a couple of inches away from them. He took a few deep breaths, focused on his hand, and said, “Watch.”

I stared at the curtains and tried to keep an open mind. Suddenly, I thought I noticed a hint of movement. I blinked. Was I really seeing the curtains move because of Elvis, or was it the result of circulating air?

Elvis gave me a little smile. His knowing expression helped support my growing belief that, with Elvis, things I’d once thought were impossible might not be so far-fetched after all.

A little while later, as Elvis and I were talking, he began quoting from one of his books. We had gone over them so often that I’d memorized some of the lines. Now, when he forgot part of a sentence, I was able to jump in and finish it for him. He liked that, telling me that I was a quick learner, which made me feel good.

At one point, I suddenly began to feel a little queasy. Elvis noticed my discomfort and asked me to lie back on the bed. When I did, he placed his hand lightly over my abdomen and held it there, asking me to focus on the color green so he could heal me.

I forced myself to lie quietly and concentrate on the color green. After a few minutes, Elvis suddenly whipped his hand high into the air, as if pulling an illness right out of my body.

Miraculously, I felt less nauseous. Could Elvis really heal me? And could he teach me to heal myself?

I was a bit shaken by the experience. I felt that, in order for this kind of thing to work, one had to believe in it. Maybe I was becoming a believer. Elvis had, once again, challenged me to experience something new.

As the night went on, the teacher in Elvis continued to emerge. At one point, I was reading to myself with my head tilted forward off my pillow, and Elvis looked over at me. “Lift your chin and sit up straight,” he suggested. “You’re not getting enough oxygen.”

I took his advice and sat up in bed.

Later, Elvis said, “You should avoid wrinkling your forehead and you should drink lots of water because it’ll help prevent dark circles under your eyes.”

Figuring that Elvis didn’t want me to look like an eighty-year-old raccoon, and always open to beauty suggestions, I was glad to follow his advice.

•   •   •

Despite Larry’s massages and ministrations, Elvis’s leg continued to bother him. During his December 7 show, he talked about his pinched nerve and apologized to the audience, saying he would do his best to give a good performance.

Later in the show, Elvis announced that he wanted to do something he hadn’t done before and sing a couple of spiritual songs that weren’t normally included in his set list. With all of the reading Elvis had been doing on Eastern religions, I had yet to ask him how he felt about Jesus, or what he believed about God. But, when a member of the audience shouted to Elvis, “You’re the king!” his answer told me a great deal.

“Thank you, sir,” Elvis said. “I’m fixin’ to sing about Him.” He was making it clear that, for him, there was only one King.

•   •   •

I hadn’t spoken to my family since my earlier call. Once we returned to the suite after that particular show, I felt like checking in with them. I called home and my mother answered. She sounded sleepy, and I felt bad, realizing I’d forgotten about the time difference. Even worse, my mother told me that my grandfather, Alonzo Spencer, had been taken ill a few days earlier in his nursing home in Arkansas.

I loved Alonzo and had always felt close to him. He was my sole surviving grandparent. My mother was never one to worry others, but I knew her well enough to detect an uneasiness in her voice.

After I hung up, I sat there, staring at the phone and worrying. Did I need to go see my grandfather? I felt torn. I didn’t want to leave Elvis, but what if I didn’t go, and something happened to Alonzo?

I went back to the bedroom and told Elvis about the phone call and how I was feeling.

“Did your mother say anything that alarmed you?” he asked.

“No, not really,” I said. “I just heard something in her voice.”

Elvis reassured me that my grandfather would be all right, which was comforting, and said he would like me to stay. I knew he was probably right—after all, my mother hadn’t said anything about me needing to see my grandfather—so I agreed.

Meanwhile, Elvis said he was still feeling some pain in his leg and wanted to see Dr. Ghanem. Instead of having the doctor come to the Hilton, Elvis arranged to go see him this time.

I figured he probably wanted to get out for a change and I accompanied him. Once we were in the car, however, my concern about my grandfather’s health returned and gnawed away at me. I must have been extra quiet, because Elvis asked what was bothering me.

“I’m thinking about my grandfather,” I said.

Elvis again tried to calm my worries. When we arrived at the physician’s office, Dr. Ghanem offered me a seat in the chair behind his desk while he and Elvis went into another room. I waited, hoping that Dr. Ghanem could help him with his pain.

After a few minutes, Dr. Ghanem returned and walked up to me. “Ginger, can’t you see Elvis needs you?” he asked. This surprised me. I’d been concerned about my grandfather but hadn’t said I was leaving.

I realized with a start that Elvis must have discussed this possibility with Dr. Ghanem. Before I could reply, Elvis joined us.

“I want to get a top doctor to help your grandfather,” he told me. “I’ll see to it that everything possible will be done, if need be, to help him.”

Elvis then asked for the phone number of the nursing home. I was taken aback despite deeply appreciating his offer. It was hard to fathom that Elvis had a need for me that was so great that, even with my grandfather’s health issue, he didn’t want me to leave.

Dr. Ghanem left the room to give us some privacy while I called my mom. She had no idea how alarmed I had become, and she gave me the number of the nursing home. As Elvis began dialing it, I wondered if whoever answered at the nursing home would really believe it was him. I was unaware at the time that the press knew of my existence and stories about me and Elvis were circulating. Word was already spreading rapidly about a possible marriage between Elvis and me. My aunts, for instance, had heard radio personality Paul Harvey announce my engagement to Elvis. The nursing home employees seemed to know about it as well. They put Elvis straight through to the head nurse administrator.

Elvis talked to the administrator for a few minutes about my grandfather’s care. When he hung up, he told me my grandfather had the beginning of what could be pneumonia, but they were watching him closely and he was in very good hands.

“Thank you,” I said, and immediately felt better.

Just when I thought Elvis couldn’t possibly be any kinder or bighearted, he asked me to get my mother back on the telephone. “I’d like to fly your family in to give them a break, to meet me and see my shows,” he said.

Stunned, I redialed my home number and handed Elvis the receiver. As he spoke with my mother, Elvis told her about calling the nursing home, then said, “I’d like to see to it that your father has the best possible care, with the best doctor, should he suddenly take a turn for the worse.”

Looking down, he listened silently for a few minutes. I knew my mother must be thanking him.

Then Elvis interrupted her. “Mrs. Alden, I’m in love with your daughter and I want to marry her,” he said.

A shock rippled through my body. I straightened beside him as Elvis looked directly into my eyes, and I had to force myself to breathe. Could this really be happening?

I figured someone back home at that moment must be picking my mother right up off the floor, as Elvis casually proceeded to invite my family to Las Vegas for the weekend. Then he hung up the phone with a look of total satisfaction.

For my part, I was having trouble finding any words at all. Elvis may have made a remark about us being engaged earlier, but this declaration completely blew me away! Now I looked back on everything Elvis had said to me about soul mates and wondered if I’d found mine.

Many of Elvis’s words and his behavior had certainly intimated he had been thinking a great deal about how I might fit into his life. Now he’d mentioned marriage to my mother as if he had come to a conclusion, formulated a plan, and just wanted me to know so he could carry it out. Elvis was someone I certainly thought I could marry, but everything was happening too fast for me to process it all at once. Our time together had been so intense that I felt like I needed to slow down and catch my breath. But all I could think to do at the moment was thank him again for his kindness and generosity toward me and my family.