Elvis and Ginger: Elvis Presley's Fiancée and Last Love Finally Tells Her Story (9 page)

After landing in Las Vegas, we climbed into a waiting limousine and were escorted by police to the Hilton International Hotel. As we passed by a large, glitzy marquee displaying Elvis’s name, I mused on the fact that I’d never been to Las Vegas before in my life, and now I’d been here twice in a short time.

Once again, we entered the hotel through the back door, but this time rode the elevator to the thirtieth floor. I followed Elvis down a hallway toward a security guard sitting in a chair beside some double doors. One of the doors was opened; we walked through it and down a few steps into the living room of a penthouse.

It was a sumptuous suite decorated with gold carpeting and drapes. Black pillows accented the gold sofa and chairs furnishing the living room. There was a dining room and kitchen, too.

I’m sure I must have looked as awed as I felt, as I gaped at our new surroundings, because Elvis was watching my reaction and smiling. From the main part of the enormous suite, he walked me down a short hallway and into a master bedroom. There were his and her bathrooms, a sitting area, and a king-size bed on a raised platform. The mirrored ceiling above the bed reflected our movements.

An aide entered the bedroom, opened a suitcase containing books, and laid a few on the floor beside the bed. Another aide placed a water container on the night table, along with a box of Roi Tan cigars, the brand Elvis had occasionally smoked in front of me. The aide also left a schedule on the nightstand listing which employees were on duty and at what time, along with their room numbers. By now I had observed that the aides seemed to have various assignments. Some helped with wardrobe, while others served as extra hands during concerts or brought food and packets of medication to Elvis.

Once they’d made sure everything was to Elvis’s liking, the aides evaporated. No sooner had they left when Elvis pressed a button by the bed. The drapes against one wall slowly began to open, revealing windows and a spectacular view of Las Vegas spread below our penthouse.

Elvis gave me a tour of the other rooms connected to the suite and mentioned that his father was coming and would be staying in one. I wondered which bedroom would be mine, after noticing Joe Esposito in one of them.

Telling me that his dad, Vernon, had suffered a heart attack the year before, Elvis said he was glad Vernon was able to come to his shows again. We returned to the living room and Elvis walked over to a record player. The song he chose to play was Charles Boyer singing “Once Upon a Time.”

As the song echoed throughout the suite, Elvis closed his eyes and began to speak the lyrics, Boyer-style. He continued to do the same with the song, “Softly I Must Leave You.” The words were beautiful and I sat, enchanted, as Elvis delivered them with great passion.

When the album ended, Elvis told me that “Softly I Must Leave You” was written by a man in a hospital who began to feel like he was dying after his wife lay beside him and fell asleep. Not wanting to wake her, the man wrote the words to the song in a letter to his wife. I knew this song had touched Elvis deeply, as I recalled him singing and talking about it onstage, the first time I saw him perform back in July. Elvis would play this album many more times for me while we were in Las Vegas.

•   •   •

With no show until the next evening, Elvis had time to relax. I followed him into the bedroom, thinking we might rest, but he stayed up as various employees popped in and out, some going over business and others just checking to see if he needed anything.

Dr. Ghanem stopped by to say hello, making me wonder what had happened to Dr. Nichopoulos. When Elvis wanted to speak to one of his staff privately, he’d sometimes gesture to the bathroom door and jokingly say, “Step into my office.” I decided it made sense; the bathroom was private and more convenient for him than going to an outer room or asking others to leave.

When things quieted down and we were finally relaxing in bed, Elvis picked up a book. This time it was
The Prophet
by Kahlil Gibran, the Lebanese philosopher and artist. I didn’t know it yet, but during the intimate months we would spend together, Elvis would refer to this book many times. It was an important philosophical touchstone for him.

Elvis turned the book over and showed me the author’s photo on the back cover. “Doesn’t he have a knowing look?” he asked.

I took in what seemed to me to be a pensive Gibran and answered yes.

The Prophet
spoke of a person named Almustafa who was waiting to return home after living twelve years in the city of Orphalese. With sadness, he answers questions from the people of the isle before he departs.

Elvis singled out some quotes and read them to me. One of them came from a section where Almustafa is asked to speak of love:

When love beckons to you, follow him, Though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you believe in him, Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden. For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.

Elvis read the words with great passion and power. I could sense that he really wanted to grasp what the author knew or how Gibran had been feeling in order to write this way. For my part, I listened to the words and felt my own inexperience in relationships. At age twenty, I had yet to know a truly great love. Would Elvis be my first?

After sharing these passages with me, Elvis explained, “I don’t think a person can control love. When it happens, you just go along with it and try your best to be prepared for the good and bad.”

And, when Almustafa is asked what of marriage, Gibran wrote these words:

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.

You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.

Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

At one point during this reading, Elvis paused to smile and say, “I think I could be engaged to you,” then returned his attention to the book.

I was no longer concentrating on the book. I was too flabbergasted.
Engaged?
Had I heard Elvis right?

I decided he was joking, saying this just because we happened to be reading together and enjoying ourselves. We’d only been together, in all, about a week.

Still, his statement hung over me as Elvis continued to read, emphasizing certain words and shaking his head in amazement at their power.

I thought the writing was wonderful, too, and found myself going over quotes and asking questions while Elvis analyzed different passages from the book. Even in such a short time, I could feel that reading with him was helping me learn and grow.

A little while later, Elvis paused again and shut his eyes. “You know, when I close my eyes, I can envision you in a long white gown,” he said. Then he slowly opened his eyes, cocked his head to one side, and raised an eyebrow at me, gauging my reaction.

“Oh,” I said, struggling to think of some reply. “That’s nice,” I added and smiled.
A long white gown? Engaged? Is it possible he means what I think he means? This can’t be right,
I thought.
Not after such a short time.

On the other hand, I’d already seen how spontaneous and decisive Elvis could be about certain things. I had certainly felt a strong attraction between us from the first day we met, but the idea of us already discussing marriage was nearly impossible for me to grasp. I was just two years out of high school and we couldn’t have been at more different places in our lives. Yet, these potential obstacles seemed to be rapidly fading. Also, it was no small thing that this was Elvis, a man who seemed to live in a world of his own making.

Without remarking on my shocked expression, which I’m sure must have mirrored my thoughts, Elvis simply smiled and went back to reading. Meanwhile, my mind continued spinning out of control. How could Elvis feel so strongly about us already?

As dawn broke, Elvis went into his bathroom and changed into pajamas with no mention of a separate room for me. Realizing there would be little to no privacy now, I decided to just go with the flow and went into the designated ladies’ bathroom to change for bed. Not only did I still have to work on feeling comfortable wearing pajamas around Elvis, I now had to be okay being dressed in them, chances were, in front of his entire clan of male pals and support staff.

I came out of the bathroom and sat beside Elvis on the bed. I had been trying hard all evening to understand and accept the ideas and information he’d been sharing with me. Now he sprang something new yet again.

“Come on, let’s meditate together,” he said. “It’s calming and a way of being in touch with one’s higher self.”

I had never meditated and had no clue what he meant by a “higher self.” Still, I was willing to try it. I sat beside him and crossed my legs, imitating his position.

“Pyramids possess a special energy which help give strength to an individual,” Elvis explained as he showed me how to form a pyramid shape with my index fingers and thumbs. Then he placed his hands up to his forehead and told me, “Pray to the third eye and say, ‘Christ light, Christ love, Christ peace.’”

After I’d repeated these words, Elvis explained that the third eye was an energy center that related to being able to evaluate our past experiences and life patterns, so we could put them into perspective through the wisdom of the third chakra, which was located between the eyes. If this chakra malfunctioned, the symptoms might be a headache and eye tension.

We sat in this position and I tried to focus on blocking out everything else as I repeated these words with Elvis. To my surprise, after a while I felt a peaceful feeling wash over me. I could definitely understand how someone like Elvis, with so many demands on his time and energy, could benefit from meditation.

Elvis looked relaxed when we’d finished meditating. He told me that when his ex-wife, Priscilla, was speaking with him on the phone once and telling him that she didn’t know how to handle Lisa, he’d said, “Get a pen and a piece of paper and write down this word . . .
meditate
.”

He had yet to make any physical advances toward me, other than the light kisses I’d received. I wasn’t really surprised by this, given his schedule. But now here we were, in another hotel room, and he wasn’t exhausted from a show tonight. Would he make a move? And what would I do if he did?

There was no need for concern. Elvis took two cotton balls and put them in his mouth to wet them, then placed a cotton ball in each ear. “This helps to block the outside noise,” he explained. He was clearly preparing for bed.

It seemed that Elvis was as eager to respect me as I was to be respected. He purposely kept his distance from me and I got the feeling that he was saving our physical encounter for a time when it would be right for both of us.

We started watching television and, after what had been a long, exhilarating night, we both soon fell asleep.

When we woke again, an aide brought in a packet for Elvis and left. Elvis told me it was a mixture of vitamins, medication, sinus pills, and aspirin. I figured this was a combination designed to give him the energy and clear head he needed to perform.

We then went into the living room and ate, visiting with some of his entourage. When his karate instructor, Ed Parker, appeared, Elvis referred to him as his high priest. Elvis had explained to me earlier that Ed was a martial arts expert. Ed had trained many stuntmen and celebrities, and Elvis had hired him to help with security.

“My previous bodyguards kept getting into trouble and causing problems for me,” Elvis said, “so they had to be fired.”

This was the first time I’d heard Elvis talk about karate with Ed, and Ed’s knowledge was extremely impressive. Now I learned that it was Ed who had promoted Elvis to a ninth-degree black belt. Elvis told me he didn’t want the rank of tenth degree, because “there was nowhere to go after that.” He wanted something to aspire to in karate.

Early in the evening, Elvis asked me to go shopping. “I want you to look special for my shows,” he explained.

He asked a bodyguard to accompany me. I understood that Elvis felt responsible for my safety, but I felt a little uncomfortable shopping with a strange man and having Elvis buy me clothes. On the other hand, I was sure that appearances had to be important to Elvis, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

The Hilton had some beautiful shops downstairs. I browsed inside a few stores while the bodyguard waited just outside them. We were going to be in Las Vegas quite a while and I didn’t know what to buy.

Conscious of not spending too much, but wanting to get something that pleased Elvis, I finally decided on a pair of silver and rhinestone evening shoes, a smoky gray cocktail dress, a peach gown, and another white evening dress with long sashes. The bodyguard paid for everything and we returned upstairs.