Elvis and Ginger: Elvis Presley's Fiancée and Last Love Finally Tells Her Story

by Ginger Alden

  Back in the dressing room after the show, I sat on the couch near Lisa, Vernon, and Sandy, quietly watching people mingle. Roy Orbison and his wife, Barbara, entered the room. I was thrilled to see Roy, since I’d been a fan of his music. He was easy to spot, dressed in all black, with pale skin and his trademark sunglasses.

  By then, Elvis had finished changing out of his jumpsuit. He entered the room, greeted his daughter, dad, and a few others. Then he sat down beside me, and the Orbisons came over to sit across from us and talk. The room was so noisy that Elvis had to lean forward to hear them. I continued to sit quietly beside him and watch everyone.

  Suddenly, Elvis looked over his shoulder at me. “Would you put your hand on my back and calm me down?” he asked.

  I hesitated a moment. My family was close, but we rarely displayed any public affection. Even though Elvis and I had been intimate, I felt shy about casually massaging his back in public, let alone in front of a celebrity like Roy Orbison.

  I lightly placed my hand on his back and gently began to rub it.

  Elvis looked over his shoulder at me again and smiled. I was glad that the touch of my hand did seem to calm him. I wanted to please him and seeing that small gestures like this did, was helping me learn to be more openly affectionate in public.

  After the Orbisons left, I caught a glimpse of how truly appreciative Elvis was of his fans. He greeted three ladies who’d been waiting to present him with handmade figures of the three wise men. Each figure was beautifully crafted, and Elvis spoke with the ladies for a while, admiring the detail and workmanship that had gone into making them. These gifts would be brought up to the suite and eventually taken back to Graceland.

  When his second show was over and we were finally alone in the suite, Elvis was served a late meal. As he grabbed the salt shaker and began sprinkling it over his food, once again I thought this couldn’t be healthy. This was confirmed when, shortly after finishing his meal, he held up his left hand. “I can’t believe how bloated I get,” he said with a discouraged look. He then tried bending his fingers to show me how swollen they were from fluid retention.

  “The doctors have me take water pills before I go onstage,” he continued, sounding aggravated, explaining that the pills were meant to help remove fluid from his system. “I hate to do this, because those pills make me feel weak and zap some of my strength.”

  Our relationship was still so new that it was difficult for me to feel comfortable telling him what he should or shouldn’t eat. “I heard too much salt can cause fluid retention,” I told him and left it at that, hoping that over time I might be able to guide him to take a healthier approach to food.

  • • •

  We went to bed around dawn, as we usually did. The next afternoon I woke up early and walked out onto the rooftop terrace to admire the view.

  I stood outside for a few minutes, feeling like a tourist, amazed by the sheer fact that I was here right now, experiencing so many new things with Elvis. Just as I was finally turning to go back inside, I was startled to see Lisa starting to climb onto a ledge behind me. She must have entered the suite and followed me outside.

  “Lisa, don’t do that,” I said as calmly as I could. As I walked her back inside, I gently explained how dangerous it could have been for her to climb on that ledge. I couldn’t even imagine what Elvis would do if something happened to his only daughter.

  Lisa scampered off to her room. I returned to the bedroom and, seeing Elvis still asleep, decided to keep the incident from him. He had enough concerns at the time. Lisa was okay and, after our talk, I was sure she wouldn’t do it again.

  Later that afternoon, a stout, balding man with a large cigar clenched between his teeth entered our suite. Elvis introduced him to me as his manager, Colonel Tom Parker. Elvis told me that they needed to talk some business and asked if I’d mind leaving the room.

  Other than a casual hello, I wouldn’t see or speak much with Colonel Parker in Las Vegas. He never stayed long when he came to the suite, and he and Elvis always met in private to discuss business.

  • • •

  That evening, Elvis injured his ankle. I was in my bathroom when it happened, but he later told me he had stepped off the platform in the bedroom and twisted it. To ease the pain and protect it, he had his ankle wrapped. He told his audience about it that night during the show.

  He chatted about a few other things onstage as well, including his birthday, numerology, and the significance of black diamonds. “They don’t shine,” he said of the diamonds. “They don’t do nothin’. They’re just there . . . they’re like Charlie,” he joked.

  Uncomfortable, and not wanting to injure his ankle further, he sometimes sat on a stool while performing, but still put his best effort into putting on a good show.

  In the suite afterward, Elvis began experiencing pain in his upper leg as well. He told me he thought he had a pinched nerve and felt that he might have pulled a hamstring muscle during a previous show.

  My heart went out to him. Elvis called for Dr. Ghanem and Larry Geller. I could understand why Elvis wanted to see his doctor, but I was mystified about why he’d requested his hairdresser.

  When the two men appeared, Elvis put Larry to use by having him massage his leg. Dr. Ghanem administered a shot of cortisone into the injured muscle so that Elvis would be able to perform.

  When we were alone again, Elvis started talking about the dry desert air. He had already mentioned it during a few shows and was worried about getting a sore throat. “I don’t see how some singers can actually live and perform full-time in Las Vegas,” he said. “It’s essential to always protect the voice. That’s why I don’t usually talk loud. You should never shout or talk loud over a television so you can preserve your vocal cords as well.”

  Elvis deeply appreciated the vocal talent of other performers, especially the beautiful voices of his backup singers, Sherrill Nielsen and Kathy Westmoreland. That night, suddenly in the mood to visit with one of them, he called Sherrill and asked him to come to our room.

  Elvis teased Sherrill onstage but truly admired him, telling me, “His voice never seems to falter or crack.” I could appreciate what Elvis meant. Sherrill really did shine as he played guitar and sang for us while we sat in bed.

  Elvis also enjoyed having conversations with his bass singer, J. D. Sumner. He invited J. D. to our room occasionally, and asked him to hit some of his famous low notes for me.

  These special moments would continue on future tours with Elvis, and I treasured them all. They were like having mini concerts right in the privacy of our own bedroom.

  Before going to sleep that morning, I learned that Elvis sometimes liked to be coddled. He asked me to wet a pair of cotton balls in my mouth and place one inside each of his ears. Seeing this as a little boy side to Elvis, I didn’t mind doing it. This became one of the small things I was happy to do for him, like rubbing his back or soothing his eyes with a washcloth.

  This Las Vegas engagement was letting me get to know two different men. The first was Elvis the entertainer, who gave me a rare inside look at the intense nature of his preparation for shows, his joy and strain during performances, and what it took for him to wind down and sleep after being onstage in front of so many adoring fans.

  The other man was the private Elvis, with his love, passions, concerns, hurts, likes, and dislikes. He was very observant and had some pet peeves that I never would have guessed. He would get annoyed, for instance, if a person didn’t look directly at him while he was talking. It also bothered Elvis whenever he noticed someone yawning while he was speaking. “It’s the sign of a short attention span,” he told me.

  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 aske
d 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.

  CHAPTER 9

  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 t
hought 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.”