Elvis and Ginger: Elvis Presley's Fiancée and Last Love Finally Tells Her Story (28 page)

Elvis’s tour was scheduled to begin on April 21. We would be on the road for almost two weeks. This was longer than what I’d experienced before, but, as always, I was excited about visiting cities I’d never seen. Our stops would include Greensboro, North Carolina; Detroit and Ann Arbor, Michigan; Toledo, Ohio; and Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

Every so often on this tour, Elvis would complain about feeling bloated, but otherwise he seemed to be in good spirits. His eyes continued to bother him after some shows; as usual, I placed a warm washcloth over them to help soothe the irritation.

Concerned about his audiences, many times while we were backstage, Elvis would ask someone to describe what the crowd was like before he went on. After one performance, he said to me, “Man, there were some people in the first three rows who looked like they were sleeping. What are they, dead?”

I knew he was very sensitive about making his fans happy, and I tried to reassure him. “Elvis, it was only a couple of people,” I said. “I’m sure they loved the show.”

Elvis varied the songs in each show, and you never knew what to expect; he would feed off of the audience’s reaction and banter with people. He had more energy for some shows than others, but Elvis always put his heart and soul into delivering the best possible entertainment.

At the end of a performance in Milwaukee, however, there was a small mishap. Elvis exited the stage and, blinded by multiple camera flashes, he fell on the stairs and sprained his ankle. He was piqued when he got into the car and remained angry once back in his room. Dr. Nichopoulos wrapped Elvis’s ankle (which unfortunately would cause him problems at future shows), and later when we were alone, he said, “People just aren’t doing their jobs.” Frustrated, he told me that a bodyguard named Dick “wasn’t where he was supposed to be,” and then he declared, “I’m getting rid of Dick, Joe, and a whole lot more!”

I knew Elvis was in a bad mood because of his ankle hurting him, but I knew there was another recent incident that caused him to express displeasure with a few in his staff: A girl had broken through the crowd and reached Elvis, purposely scratching his hand and making him bleed. Elvis had gotten angry and later complained to me about some in his entourage then too.

Finally settling down for the night and resting as comfortably as he could with his injured ankle, Elvis decided to invite my mother and sisters to come to Duluth, Minnesota. I knew the reason Elvis wanted my mother to join us: A few weeks before this tour, in a somber mood one day, I had confided to Elvis that my father had moved out of our house. I could tell by the look on his face then that this news had bothered him. Elvis had been continually asking me whether my parents were shopping for a new home. They hadn’t been looking, but each time he’d brought the subject up, I’d just told him, “No, they haven’t found anything they like.” I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. A house was obviously a huge gift, too big a present and my parents had expressed to me that they felt awkward about Elvis’s offer on more than one occasion.

Although he was aware that my father had moved out, Elvis still had his mind set on buying a new home for my family and at the beginning of this tour, he had brought the subject up again, telling me, “I want to talk to your mother about it. I’m gonna invite her and your sisters to see some shows.” I couldn’t believe that in the middle of a tour, Elvis was thinking about my family.

My mother and Rosemary agreed to come, but Terry was unable to make it. He asked them to stop by Graceland to pick up a brace for his ankle, which a nurse would leave for them. Elvis chartered a Learjet out of Nashville to fly my mother, Rosemary, and a girlfriend of Ricky’s out of Memphis.

My family arrived safely, and before the Duluth show, Elvis invited my mother and Rosemary into his room, where they gave him the ankle brace he had requested. Elvis asked how their flight was.

“Good,” my mother answered. “At one point, the pilot told us we were flying at forty-seven thousand feet.”

Elvis wasn’t happy hearing this. He told my mother they never should have flown that high, because the plane could have popped rivets. “I won’t use that company again,” he said.

My mother and sister toured with us for a few days. Elvis invited them to ride in the limo with us, which displaced a few of the staff who usually traveled with him. I hoped this didn’t bother anyone. Sometimes, members of his entourage had to take a shuttle bus from the airplane to the hotel, and once, when my family was directed onto the bus, Elvis quickly ditched the limo and we rode the bus, with Elvis squatting down in the aisle so he could talk with my mother.

When we’d returned to our hotel after Elvis’s show in Chicago, he was ready to talk with my mother about looking at homes and the situation with my father. I left the room to get her and Rosemary, passing Colonel Parker as he entered the suite.

The colonel usually flew out ahead of us, landing in the next city to make sure everything was in order before Elvis performed. I still hadn’t been around him enough to get a feel for who he really was. At one point, however, I had arrived in a city and entered our hotel suite, where I was surprised to see the colonel standing by a mobile cart, wearing a chef’s hat and stirring a pot of soup.

There were times when Elvis expressed displeasure with his manager, feeling the colonel chose hotels too far away from the performance venues, and all because they had better food. Once, while we were riding to a show, Elvis asked, “Can’t the colonel find anything closer?”

On another occasion, I had left the room so Elvis could talk privately with Colonel Parker. When I returned, Elvis was shaking his head in amazement. “I was sitting here telling him I had a sore throat, and all he was talking about was the next tour,” he said.

I brought Rosemary and my mother into the suite and a few minutes later, Elvis and the colonel exited his bedroom. Elvis introduced my family to Colonel Parker, and when the colonel turned his back to walk away, Elvis gave a contemptuous wave of his hand, motioning him out of the suite.

The three of us followed Elvis back into his bedroom and he closed the door. “How are you doing?” my mother asked him.

Since his eyes had been bothering him a little, Elvis mentioned that, then invited her to sit beside him on the bed. Diving right in, he asked what she thought would be the best solution to her marital problems.

I knew this would be uncomfortable for her to discuss, but it would probably be good for her to talk with someone.

Telling Elvis now that she was completely drained emotionally, my mother said it looked like a divorce was the only solution.

“Is it the best solution, or the last alternative?” Elvis asked her.

“I’m afraid it’s the best solution,” she said.

Charlie knocked on the door, came in, and mentioned that Milo High was waiting at the airport to take Rosemary and my mother home so he could return again to pick up the colonel and take him where he needed to be.

Clearly unhappy about this interruption, however, Elvis shot Charlie a look and he left. Elvis then continued their conversation.

“If there’s no chance of you working things out,” Elvis told my mother, “I’d like you to see my lawyer, Beecher Smith, when you get home, and I’d like to pay for the divorce.”

I remembered Beecher from the signing of Elvis’s will. We were all stunned that Elvis wanted to get involved like this, but my mother thanked him graciously.

Before long, there was another knock on the door. Charlie stepped inside and reminded Elvis that Milo was waiting. It was obvious that Elvis was getting even more annoyed. As if trying to avoid any further interruption, he said, “Let’s finish the conversation in Ginger’s room.”

We left his room and entered mine, where Elvis sat on the bed with my mother. He asked if she would still like to look for a new house. She thanked him, but said she was happy where she was.

Elvis pondered this for a minute, then told her, “Mrs. Alden, I know you won’t be financially able to pay the house note and other expenses on your own. If you’re happy in that house, I want to pay for it. You don’t need a mortgage and your home will stay in your name.”

I noticed my mother’s eyes getting misty. Elvis then surprised us even more by adding, “I’d also like you to have a swimming pool and some landscaping done. You don’t have any trees. You need trees.”

Elvis was on a roll and we were swept up by his enthusiasm. Again, my mother thanked him.

Elvis asked what she thought my dad would want from the divorce, and my mother said our father would probably want his fair share of the equity in the house.

Now there was a knock on my door. When I opened it, Charlie was standing there.

Before he could speak, Elvis shouted, “Charlie, it’s my damn plane, and I’ll send it when I’m damn good and ready!”

Charlie made an about-face and left.

Putting his arm around my mother’s shoulder, Elvis said then, “Don’t worry. I’ll see that my father takes care of everything.”

Elvis’s jeweler, Lowell, was along on the trip. Elvis called him into our suite at that point and gave my mom and Rosemary each a beautiful diamond ring. The two of them were flown home on his JetStar shortly afterward. The deep compassion and personal concern Elvis was showing for my mother’s welfare deeply touched me to the core.

•   •   •

Elvis finished his last concert that April in Saginaw, Michigan. We flew back to Memphis then, where he would have a little over two weeks off until his next tour began on May 20.

The conversation with my mother was still on his mind. One day, Elvis told me he had spoken with his father to set things in motion regarding my mother’s divorce and paying off our home. Elvis asked me to have my mother call Beecher Smith.

“Thank you,” I said, and promised I would. I appreciated his offer to pay off my mother’s mortgage, knowing how much it would mean to her to have that financial burden lifted, especially now that she was facing the harsh reality of making ends meet on her own.

Arriving at Graceland a few days later, I found Elvis finishing a conversation on his bedside phone. When he hung up, Elvis told me he’d been talking to Vernon, who had filed for a divorce from his wife, Dee. Elvis told me they had been trying to work out a settlement.

I was surprised to hear this; since Vernon was engaged to Sandy, I had naturally assumed he was already divorced. This was the first time I’d ever heard Elvis talk about his stepmother.

“My daddy used to come home from work and be tired, and Dee would have some entertainer or other people in the house,” Elvis said, looking irritated.

I knew that Elvis was worried about his dad’s health as well as the divorce. I placed my hand on his back, trying to calm him a little. “I hope everything works out okay.”

“She better leave my daddy alone,” Elvis said.

The specter of divorce was swirling around us: My parents, Vernon, and even one of Elvis’s stepbrothers were all having marital problems. This was affecting both of us. Still, when it came to our own relationship, our love for each other continued to burn bright and our enthusiasm hadn’t dimmed. Elvis still believed strongly in marriage and clearly wanted to get married again. I felt the same way: I wanted to be a wife and mother, and I believed if you were meant to be together and stay together, you would.

A short while later, Elvis got up from bed and began rummaging through a closet in his bedroom. He came across various hats and showed them to me, then pulled out a poster-size photo of himself taken when he was little. In the photo, he was standing between his parents, wearing overalls and a hat.

As he held the picture up to show me, Elvis stuck out his lower lip in a little-boy pout. “I was two and had a peanut in my mouth,” he said.

“Now that’s a ‘Little Two,’” I teased, alluding to one of the nicknames he’d given me.

Elvis propped the picture on a chair, facing the bed, and asked, “Does this bother you?”

“No,” I said. I wondered if the conversation about his dad had prompted him to seek out this particular photo. It would remain on the chair until the next day.

•   •   •

Now that the weather was warmer, Elvis would sometimes tell me we were going out on his motorcycle, but then we’d end up reading or watching television for a while. I didn’t mind waiting; however, it got my hopes up. I’d remind him later and he would then say he was tired or just didn’t feel like it, and I’d end up disappointed.

As this pattern repeated itself a few times, I began to think that Elvis just might not ever leave his house. He rarely left the upstairs floor. I remember one night, Elvis asked me, “Who’s downstairs?”

“I saw Ricky downstairs with a girl,” I replied.

“I don’t want to go down, then,” he said. Upstairs, Elvis was usually wearing something casual or his pajamas. He didn’t feel comfortable going downstairs in front of strangers unless his hair was styled and he was dressed a certain way, and he was too polite to ask anyone to leave, so Elvis had effectively set up a world where he wasn’t going downstairs in his own home.

He had everything he needed upstairs at Graceland: his office, organ, televisions, beds, Lisa’s room, and bathrooms. Food, or anything else he might want, would appear at the touch of a button. What’s more, being on the road for so many years had led Elvis to become accustomed to eating in bed or at a coffee table.