Elvis and Ginger: Elvis Presley's Fiancée and Last Love Finally Tells Her Story (19 page)

Elvis spent a lot of time flying in his own planes, both large and small, and his father had flown in on one to see his Las Vegas shows. Private planes carrying celebrities had gone down several times over the past twenty years; although I never thought anything would happen to Elvis, I found myself wondering if this was something that ever worried him. I thought back to my grandfather’s funeral, and felt thankful once again that we’d made it safely.

While his plane travel didn’t cause me great worry, I was concerned about his health.

When it came to mealtimes, Elvis and I enjoyed eating similar things such as hamburgers, steak, and omelets but I continued to notice certain foods were being brought to Elvis in larger than normal portions. Sometimes Elvis was seduced by the temptations of these larger portions and sometimes he wasn’t. I hoped to move us toward a healthier diet, but I just didn’t know how because he was used to getting what he wanted.

Elvis
did
like yogurt though and sometimes asked for some, which I encouraged. I wasn’t a nutrition expert, but thought yogurt would be good for him. I hoped to find other foods like this that I thought would be more beneficial for him to eat as well.

One afternoon, I entered Elvis’s bedroom and found him talking on the phone. As I crossed the room, he looked up at me and said into the receiver, “Tell her how to take care of me,” then held the phone out to me. “It’s Priscilla.”

I took the receiver, confused, as Elvis sat by watching. “Hello,” I said.

A female voice instructed, “See that he eats right and gets plenty of rest.”

“Okay,” I said, quickly handing the phone back to Elvis and wondering if that was as awkward for Priscilla as it had been for me. But I did think it would be nice to have allies when it came to helping Elvis with his diet, even if one just might be his ex-wife.

Elvis continued his conversation and I went into the bathroom to give him some privacy. I wondered how often he spoke to Priscilla. I’d been unaware of what their relationship was like, but now I reminded myself that Elvis and Priscilla were raising Lisa together; it was only natural that they’d talk once in a while.

Having left the door slightly ajar, I heard Elvis say, “Really, Priscilla. Ginger is one of the prettiest girls I’ve seen in a long time.”

I suddenly felt ten feet tall, hearing him compliment me, but then I had to ask myself why he was telling Priscilla this. Did he want the women in his life, past and present, to be jealous of one another?

Shortly, I heard Elvis hang up the phone. I returned to sit on the bed with him. To my surprise, he opened up a little about his relationship with Priscilla without me even prompting him.

“I’ll always love Priscilla because she’s the mother of my child,” he said, “but I let her go. What hurt me was that her boyfriend, Mike Stone, said that I couldn’t see Lisa.”

I saw the wounded look on his face and could only imagine how that had felt, knowing how much he loved his daughter. I took his hand. It meant a lot that Elvis would share this intimate detail of his life with me and I was glad that he was talking about his emotions so openly. I hoped he’d always feel this comfortable sharing himself with me.

•   •   •

Throughout our entire stay in Palm Springs, the flow of people in and out of the house continued nonstop. Typically the visitors would include Lamar, Joe, Elvis’s stepbrothers, various girlfriends and wives, bodyguards, and a few unfamiliar women.

But, no matter who was at the house, Elvis seemed more interested in the new books his hairdresser had given him than he was in socializing with any of his employees or guests. He wanted to spend his time reading with me in the bedroom and asked only Rosemary to join us.

Elvis had the charisma and persuasive ability to draw you into his activities, and Rosemary was soon getting excited about the books, too, saying she liked the mystery of the spiritual philosophies we were studying. I wondered how often, or even if, any of the others among Elvis’s family and friends ever read with him. I had yet to hear anyone other than Larry mention the books or get drawn into discussions about the philosophical and religious ideas that interested Elvis.

One of his favorite books was
Autobiography of a Yogi
by Paramahansa Yogananda, the story of Yogananda’s lifelong exploration of the mysteries of the saints and yogis. Elvis seemed fascinated by Yogananda; he was also reading
Only Love
, by Sri Daya Mata, which dealt with Yogananda’s teachings, and
The Road Ahead
, by Swami Kriyananda, a book that illuminated Yogananda’s world prophecies.

Elvis also admired David Anrias’s book
Through the Eyes of the Masters
, which expounded on the belief that a person could incarnate in another person’s body. Over time, Elvis would tell me he thought Koot Hoomi, one of the masters from the book, was incarnate in himself, and pointed out a photo with the master dressed in a high-collared jacket similar to his own favorite style at the time.

Elvis felt there was some force inside him, guiding him to teach and bring joy to others in various ways, especially through music. He was reading these books not only to understand his own life but to help others as well. Having witnessed some mystical things with Elvis already—and there would be more of those events ahead—I was beginning to wonder if the kinds of miracles we were reading about were possible. I wasn’t ruling anything out.

Elvis’s endless fascination with Eastern philosophers led him to believe that we in the West could only benefit from studying their teachings. “India has the spiritual, and we have the natural resources,” he explained. “They have to meet at some point.”

When I looked over Elvis’s books with him, he often asked if I understood what we were reading. Sensing his deep need for me to be in synch with him, I usually told him I did. I wanted to and always tried my best, hoping in time that I would achieve as deep an understanding of these subjects as Elvis did.

Elvis took special care to explain his intellectual and spiritual interests to me. He had studied chakras and at one point he showed us a book on them. I learned that the word
chakra
came from the Sanskrit language and meant “wheel center.” A chakra channeled life force, feelings, memories, and thoughts.

The
kundalini
, or “life force,” was like a spiritual energy residing in a resting body, Elvis said, a sleeping serpent in the root chakra located at the base of the spine. To demonstrate this, Elvis placed his hand at the bottom of my spine, forcefully applying pressure while explaining that, if this spiritual energy was aroused and released, its power was enormous and could bring one to an enlightened state.

Shaking his head from side to side as if saying, “Man, oh man, if I could only do this,” he told me it took a lot of time and training to learn how to release that energy.

Elvis also eagerly taught me about acupressure, which he explained could help relieve tension. Taking hold of my foot, he pressed his fingers on different pressure points, showing me how each had an effect on the rest of the body. Elvis had strong hands and it hurt a few times, but overall, I found it really relaxing. More and more, I was finding his beliefs persuasive. Elvis was awakening my own curiosity as he introduced me to these different concepts.

During one of our reading sessions, Rosemary began to feel nauseous, which led Elvis to try a healing on her. He asked Charlie to join us and the four of us went into her room.

Rosemary lay down on her bed. Charlie held her hand and Elvis hovered his own palm close above her abdomen. Staring intensely at his hand, Elvis said to Rosemary, “Think of the color green for healing.”

He waited for a couple of moments, then quickly lifted his hand high in the air, shaking it, seemingly trying to cast away her ailment.

Watching him brought me back to my own experience in Las Vegas. I realized I was almost holding my breath, willing Elvis’s healing to work on my sister. I wanted her to feel better and truly wanted to believe in this alternative healing technique. I also wanted things to go well because it was so important to Elvis.

In any case, it worked! After a few moments, Rosemary said, “I feel better now,” and got up.

Elvis began talking about the power of concentration then and asked Rosemary and me to follow him out to the backyard. The sun was coming up as we walked past the pool and over to a nearby shrub.

Placing one of his hands near the leaves, Elvis watched them and waited for some subtle movement. I didn’t see anything happen.

After a short time, Elvis turned his attention toward the sky. Raising his arms and turning his palms upward, he began focusing on some clouds overhead. A few moments passed, then the clouds parted a little. Elvis looked back at Rosemary and me with a subtle smile.

“That’s wild!” Rosemary said.

Welcome to Elvis’s world,
I thought. I was starting to feel that maybe Elvis was right. Maybe we all really did possess abilities we’re not cognizant of; maybe if we trained and learned to focus, we could more fully tap into the power of our minds. Who was I to say no to that?

The way Elvis viewed life and his place in it led me to believe that he thought he had developed a keener awareness of his own spirituality and of the unseen layers of living than most people. I don’t think Elvis thought of himself as God-like. However, from his insatiable curiosity and intense studies of different religious practices and philosophies, it was clear he felt he had achieved a higher consciousness, one that gave him unique insights and an enlightened view of the powers we all might possess if we were willing to follow his path. Even today, many years later, I still think the opportunity is open to all of us, but it would take much time and study, which is not usually available to the average individual who faces a normal workday and raising a family.

Elvis’s mind was always churning. He was either orchestrating events or trying to understand them. I remember one afternoon, Elvis was dressed, as he usually was, in his pajamas, and began pacing back and forth in front of me, circling his bedroom. “What do you notice about my walk?” he asked.

I watched him carefully for a few seconds, trying to find something out of the ordinary. I didn’t see a thing. “One leg is shorter than the other?” I joked.

Again, Elvis was being surprisingly serious. He pointed out that his walk was very catlike, and let me know his animal title in karate was Mr. Tiger.

“I fight the way a tiger does, light on my feet,” he explained.

I had seen for myself how Elvis had interwoven karate into his shows. Now it occurred to me that Elvis literally prowled from one side of the stage to the other so his audiences could see him. I wondered if his iconic pacing might have somehow been developed while learning karate.

The deliberate way Elvis was demonstrating his stride at that moment made me think that even this simple act of walking was something he was acutely aware of. With Elvis, every detail mattered.

He also loved to talk about the people he knew or events in the news, especially when something mysterious had happened.

While we were in Palm Springs, at one point Elvis became animated when talking to Rosemary about Claudine Longet, the ex-wife of singer Andy Williams. Claudine had gone to jail briefly earlier that same year for the shooting death of her boyfriend, a skier known as Spider Sabich. Claudine claimed it was an accident, but Elvis thought there was more to it. He didn’t stop at pure speculation, either: Elvis actually phoned a friend, a private investigator named John O’Grady, and had Rosemary listen on a separate phone line while they discussed different theories concerning the case.

Elvis also loved to postulate about possible foul play in the death of Bruce Lee, the martial arts expert. Given Elvis’s passion for karate, I wasn’t surprised that he was fascinated by Lee’s death—and by some supposedly special techniques one could employ while fighting. For instance, Elvis told me about the possibility of generating an invisible wall of resistance out of projected energy, a protective shield with a special characteristic: It could soak up the energy of an attacking foe and repel it back on itself.

Only a few people knew how to execute this, Elvis said excitedly, and called Charlie into the bedroom for a demonstration. Elvis stood up and put his hands out in front of him, focusing intensely as if controlling some kind of energy. Then, after taking a few deep breaths, he asked Charlie to run at him.

Charlie backed up and came charging full force at Elvis, only to fall smack back down onto the floor, as if he had run into an invisible wall. I started to laugh, thinking they must have done this to entertain me, but both men seemed deadly serious. I quickly stifled my laughter and was left feeling bewildered. Had Elvis really learned some special mind trick in karate that allowed him to create an invisible force field?

I had my doubts about this particular demonstration that day, but seeing how serious Elvis was about it, I began to think that certain inexplicable things might actually be possible.
Welcome to Elvis’s world,
I thought again. One simply had to be there to understand.

Elvis kept the curtains closed in his Palm Springs bedroom, helping to blur any difference between night and day. My days were no longer dictated by the rise and fall of the sun, but by when Elvis went to sleep and woke up. Elvis, Rosemary, and I had been so completely immersed in various books and our discussions that each day had melded into the next. The calendar was completely forgotten.

It wasn’t until we woke one afternoon and an aide wished Elvis a happy birthday that I realized it was January 8. Elvis was forty-two that day, and I felt terrible that Rosemary and I hadn’t been able to buy him anything.

We eventually got dressed and went into the living room, where members of his entourage and a couple of unfamiliar women were waiting to greet him with birthday wishes. Elvis chose to spend the evening visiting with everyone, occasionally reading to them passages from some of his spiritual books.

Later that night, Elvis announced that he was going to have Robinson Department Store reopen for all the ladies. He wanted to send us on a little shopping spree. It felt odd to be leaving Elvis on his birthday, but I thought maybe Elvis just wanted to be alone with the men.

Elvis provided spending money for each of us, giving Rosemary and me a little extra. We headed out accompanied by a bodyguard.

Once inside Robinson’s, I found a purse I liked, then set off to find a gift for Elvis. I browsed the aisles, but Elvis wasn’t the kind of man you buy a tie or a pair of cuff links for off an ordinary store shelf or rack. Nothing caught my eye, so I decided I would use the rest of the money to get Elvis a gift back in Memphis. I didn’t know what that would be yet, but I hoped to find something different. We eventually returned to the house, where the rest of his birthday was low-key and spent doing one of the things Elvis loved most: reading to me, Rosemary, and a few others.

The next afternoon, Elvis, Rosemary, and I started watching
The Gong Show
on television. It was an amateur talent contest and the three of us were having fun, laughing at some of the show’s contestants and their often-absurd talent, when Joe Esposito came into Elvis’s bedroom, walked over to Elvis, and whispered something in his ear.

“That’s okay. You can say it in front of Ginger and Rosemary,” Elvis said. Looking slightly uncomfortable, Joe repeated, “Linda called and was wondering if you’re going to pay the rent on her apartment in Los Angeles.”

I was completely taken aback. Elvis had been paying Linda’s rent? Why? And for how long? Elvis was watching me closely, as he did sometimes, studying my face for a reaction, but I tried not to let my surprise and concern show.

Elvis looked at Joe and shook his head no.

Looking back at me he said, “It’s not fair to you.” Joe walked away.

“Well, Elvis, it wouldn’t be right,” I said, remembering that Elvis had asked me to commit myself 100 percent to him, and feeling like he should do the same for me.

Elvis kept his eyes on my face. “I bought Linda a house not long ago to put some distance between us,” he said.

Had Linda lived at Graceland full-time until then? I wondered, but I didn’t ask. I was too busy trying to absorb this new twist.

Elvis then looked at Rosemary. “How can I get her to stop calling?” he asked.

Rosemary shrugged. “Change your number, maybe?”

He grinned, but I was unable to smile. I continued to ponder all of this and what it meant for Elvis and me.

When Elvis had told me in Las Vegas that he and Linda were just friends, I had believed him. After all, he’d been publicly dating other women, and that seemed to say his relationship with Linda must be over. However, I was sure the articles of clothing and toiletries inside Graceland had been Linda’s. Plus, she had called before, asking to spend Christmas with him. It seemed that Linda was trying to hang on, no matter what Elvis did.

Now I took comfort in the fact that, even though Elvis had been helping Linda out by paying her rent, he’d just said in front of Rosemary and Joe that he wouldn’t do it anymore, and he certainly wasn’t trying to hide the fact that Linda had called. I chose to trust that Elvis was being honest with me about the relationship being completely over for him.

Unfortunately, I would still feel uncomfortable every time I saw Sam, Elvis’s bodyguard and Linda’s brother. Sam and I were friendly with one another, but I couldn’t help wondering how he truly felt toward Elvis—and toward me.

•   •   •

Elvis spent a great deal of time trying to understand numbers, customs, signs, theories, and how the universe’s patterns were interrelated. He even liked to dissect names. Sometimes he’d put his glasses on upside down and say our names backward, calling himself “Sivle” and me “Regnig.” And, when I told Elvis my middle name was “Lita,” he seemed pleased to note that
Ginger Lita Alden
and
Gladys Love Smith
—his mother’s name—contained the exact same number of letters in them.

It was illuminating to talk about philosophy and numerology with Elvis, but it could be tiring. One morning, after having been up all night with Elvis, Rosemary and I simply couldn’t focus anymore. We began to miss words, skip sentences, yawn, and joke around.

I thought Elvis had to be tired, too, but instead of appearing to need sleep as much as we did, he told us that we had just given up and didn’t want to continue reading with him.

“Elvis, I can’t keep my eyes open,” I said, feeling bad but wanting to be completely honest. “We’re just tired.”

It wasn’t easy to reason with Elvis when he had his mind set on something. Now, determined to continue his studies, Elvis said, “I’ll get someone else who
will
read with me, then.”

He called for Charlie to come to his bedroom while Rosemary went off to her own room. Charlie entered, looking as exhausted as I felt, and sat on the foot of our bed. Elvis began reading to him.

Unable to keep my eyes open even a second longer, I lay back against the pillows and dozed off.

I woke as Charlie got up to leave. When Elvis finally went to sleep, I hoped he understood I was trying my best to be there for him.

Elvis could be just as compulsive about eating certain foods as he was about studying his books. Early the next morning, I noticed that, between visits from some of the guys, Elvis must have eaten at least eight containers of yogurt over a short period of time. We finally went to sleep, but Elvis woke up shortly and decided he wanted more yogurt. He asked me to get it or have someone bring it to him.

His request concerned me. I had yet to see Elvis do any exercise at all during the weeks we’d spent together, except when he was onstage. Now, after spending so many hours with him nonstop in Palm Springs, I was concerned about him overeating. I was just trying to look out for his health.

“I don’t think you need any more yogurt,” I said.

Elvis went back to sleep without pressing the issue. So did I, thinking all was well.

A short time later, a deafening bang echoed throughout the room. I bolted upright and saw Elvis standing at the foot of the bed, holding a 57 Magnum pistol in his hand. I risked a glance behind me and saw a bullet hole in the wall above the headboard. My heart was going a mile a minute. I looked back at Elvis, trying to wrap my mind around the idea that he really had just shot a hole in the wall.

By way of explanation, Elvis said he had asked for yogurt again and I hadn’t responded. “It was an attention getter,” he said.

Bewildered, I told him I was asleep and didn’t hear him.

Meanwhile, around us the house was silent. Nobody else appeared to have heard the gun go off. Or, if they did, they weren’t coming to see who’d been shooting what.

Extremely hurt, I began to cry and ran into Rosemary’s room, almost bumping into her as I shut the door. She’d been coming out to see if I was all right, her eyes wide with fear. She looked as scared as I felt. “What happened?” Rosemary asked. “I was just on my way to your room.”

I was having trouble catching my breath. My pulse was still roaring in my ears as I told her about the gun and the inexplicable reason Elvis had given me for firing it.

Rosemary’s reaction was immediate. “My God! We’re leaving right now,” she said.

I couldn’t move and I was still having trouble breathing. My mind flooded with questions. Why had Elvis shot a gun in our bedroom? Had his sleep medication momentarily caused him to lose touch with reality?

I couldn’t come up with any rational explanation for Elvis’s behavior. Rosemary decided to go see where Elvis was and stepped into the hallway.

After a few seconds, she returned and closed the door. “I looked out the window and saw Elvis standing alone by the pool,” she reported.

I didn’t know quite what to do or how to feel as Rosemary and I sat in her room, unsure of what might happen next. Now that I felt a little calmer, deep down, I didn’t really think we were in any danger.

Before long, there was a knock at the door. When Rosemary opened it, Elvis was standing in the doorway, dressed in his robe and wearing his glasses, a deep look of remorse on his face.

I was seated in a chair beside the dresser. Elvis stepped inside and sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the dresser. The three of us were silent for a few moments.

Then Elvis stood up, took one of my hands and one of Rosemary’s, and led us to the bed. The three of us sat down.

Continuing to hold our hands, Elvis bowed his head and closed his eyes. “God, don’t let us lose it,” he prayed aloud. “God bless my family and Ginger’s family, and please don’t let us break up.”

Obviously, he was concerned about the lasting effect this incident could have on us. I could offer him little comfort, though. I was still in shock and extremely hurt by what he had done. I had completely shut down emotionally. I was numb.

Fortunately, Rosemary seemed to understand what I was feeling and took over. “Elvis, you can’t do this kind of thing,” she said.

Grasping for common ground, trying to play peacemaker between us, she started talking to Elvis about some of my likes, such as motorcycles and horses. “You should do some of those things together,” she ventured.

Elvis listened silently, still holding our hands. Was he absorbing this?

Finally, I dared to speak. “I was only trying to help you,” I said quietly, almost under my breath.

Elvis looked down at the floor, took off his glasses, and held them between his fingers. Silence hung over the three of us for a few moments. Taking my hand again, he said, “I’m sorry, Ginger.”

I sensed, on a deep level, that Elvis honestly was sorry. It felt like our relationship had been put to some bizarre kind of test, and all for the sake of more yogurt! I was acutely aware that my feelings for Elvis were like none I’d ever felt before. I’d been completely consumed by him, and now I had reached a point in my life where I couldn’t picture my future without him. I loved Elvis.

Did I think he would intentionally harm me? No. Did I think Elvis was used to getting what he wanted? Yes.

Some ironic little voice inside my head observed that one good outcome of this whole scenario was that Elvis didn’t get to have any more yogurt. I forgave Elvis that day, but I suspected more challenges lay ahead.

I went to sleep, still grappling to understand this very complex man and hoping that he might now understand me a little better, too.

•   •   •

Late the following night, Elvis decided with his usual combination of impulsive action and determination that we both needed to have our teeth checked. He flew in Max Shapiro, a dentist from Los Angeles, to make a house call.

Dr. Shapiro was in his sixties and brought his fiancée, Susan, a woman in her twenties, to Palm Springs with him. When they arrived, I thought, “Wow, this woman is a lot younger than the dentist,” then caught myself.

Probably a lot of people seeing me with Elvis thought the same thing about us, I realized, but it just seemed different with us. Maybe this had to do with how Elvis looked and acted. He could be like a big kid sometimes. The only times I was actually aware of our age difference was when we were reading together and he was teaching me something.

Elvis sat in a chair in his bedroom and Dr. Shapiro examined his teeth. When Dr. Shapiro finished looking at Elvis, I took a seat. The dentist said he could lightly file a few of my lower teeth if I wanted, just to even them out a little. I was fine with that and tilted my head back in the chair.

As Dr. Shapiro worked on my teeth, he mentioned that he’d been thinking about getting married, but he and Susan didn’t know where the right place would be.

“Do you have a marriage certificate?” Elvis asked.

“Yes, we always carry it with us,” Dr. Shapiro said.

“Why don’t you get married here?” Elvis suggested.

Dr. Shapiro stopped working on my teeth and I sat up. The dentist was obviously caught off guard, but he loved the idea and so did Susan.

Elvis was euphoric. He immediately began making plans, telling us that Larry Geller could legally perform marriage ceremonies. He called Larry and asked him to come to Palm Springs, then quickly had an aide summon a jeweler to the house so Dr. Shapiro and Susan could choose their wedding rings.