by Ginger Alden
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.
After we’d returned to our suite from the doctor’s office, Elvis began flipping through the pages of Cheiro’s Book of Numbers. Stopping on some passages dealing with our respective numbers of four and eight, he began examining their qualities and analyzing how they affected one another. I wondered if he knew how stunned I was feeling and was trying to prove to me that we were compatible. Or was he looking for a numerological validation of his feelings? My mind was on overdrive as he talked. How could Elvis know with such certainty, after so short a time, that I was the one for him?
The next time I called home, my mother mentioned Elvis’s declaration that he wanted to marry me. I could only say that I’d been as surprised as she was and that Elvis sure looked serious. “You know as much as I do,” I said.
Meanwhile, my mother had spoken with doctors at the nursing home and been told that my grandfather was doing okay and that he wasn’t any worse. “They say it’s all right for us to come see you,” she said.
Delighted, I relayed the news to Elvis, who immediately began arranging for my family’s first visit to Las Vegas.
CHAPTER 10
I hadn’t spoken much with Vernon Presley yet, but since he was Elvis’s father, I hoped he would like me. It was hard for me to find time to talk alone with Vernon because whenever he was in our suite, he mostly talked with Elvis. He
only occasionally asked me a question or directed a comment my way. We couldn’t converse during Elvis’s shows, and backstage, with Sandy at his side, Vernon was usually busy talking with guests.
December 8 proved to be a horrible night when, after Elvis’s show, Vernon collapsed in the backstage dressing room. Elvis, myself, Dr. Ghanem, Sandy, and Joe rode with him to Sunrise Hospital, where Vernon was rushed into the emergency room, followed closely by Dr. Ghanem and Sandy.
While we waited, Elvis found an empty wheelchair in a mostly vacant corridor and sat down in it. Someone placed a chair beside him for me and I sat down, too. I noticed Elvis’s eyes get misty and he lightly wiped them with the back of his hand. I placed my arm around him, wanting to comfort him any way possible. One night earlier, I’d been afraid I might lose my grandfather. Now here was Elvis, in a similar situation with his own father. I knew how helpless he must feel. Here was a man who thought he could do anything, yet this was beyond his reach. I wished there was something I could do for Elvis, the way he had offered to help me. At this moment, all I had to give him was my love, and that’s what I gave.
We said prayers in the hallway as we waited for news. Sandy finally walked out and explained that Vernon had fluid buildup in his lungs, but otherwise he was doing all right. She also mentioned that he would definitely have to stop smoking.
Dr. Ghanem joined us then, relaying similar information. He tried to reassure Elvis and put him at ease. I waited while Elvis went in to see his father. Afterward, the doctors requested that Vernon stay in the hospital overnight.
I had seen Elvis be pensive before, but during our ride back to the Hilton, he was dead quiet. I was determined to comfort him and respect his feelings any way I could. If Elvis wanted to think in silence, I was there to keep him company, or if he wanted to talk, I was there to listen.
As we returned to our suite, Ricky Stanley was waiting for us. He immediately walked up to Elvis and hugged him. Ricky then surprised me with a hug and said, “Thank you for being here, Ginger.”
It meant a great deal to me, hearing that. I was grateful if, in some small way, I had actually helped Elvis in a time of need.
A little later, Elvis decided he wanted to meditate—not surprising, I thought, on such an emotional night. He asked Larry and Charlie to join us in our room, where the four of us sat on the bed, held hands, and visualized colors, our hearts and minds focused on healing Vernon Presley.
The following evening, my stomach became unsettled. Whether this was from the tension I’d felt during the previous night or from something else, I had no idea. Not wanting to worry Elvis, I decided to try a self-healing.
We had been reading in bed together; now I left Elvis and went into the bathroom, where I shut the door and stretched out on the carpeted floor. I took some deep breaths, focused on a color, and concentrated on feeling better.
When my stomach felt less queasy, I returned to our room. Elvis was still in bed, reading, and as I settled in place beside him, he looked up from his book. “Why were you lying on the floor?” he asked.
Completely mystified, I asked, “How did you know I was on the floor?”
Without saying a word, Elvis winked and smiled that satisfied, knowing smile I was becoming familiar with—a smile that intimated some type of sixth sense.
I felt my eyes go wide. Had Elvis somehow performed a healing on me from a distance, through a closed door?
I was beginning to believe in certain powers despite the fact that logic told me otherwise. Now I remembered how Elvis had once said he knew what was about to happen, and where, as if he had the gift of second sight. Had he just demonstrated that gift to me, or was it an innocent parlor trick?
The longer I was with Elvis, the more anything seemed possible.
• • •
I had enjoyed watching Elvis tease his band members onstage, and I’d grown accustomed to him changing the lyrics to certain songs in jest. However, during his next show, Elvis seemed to actually forget a few words.
For a moment, I thought maybe he was simply bored by repeating some songs. I quickly dismissed the notion that he would turn in a subpar performance, though, because the Elvis I was getting to know only ever wanted to give his audience the best.
Could his water pills or any pain medication be affecting his memory? It also seemed likely that, with Vernon in the hospital and so much going on around him, Elvis could forget a few words. I was slowly becoming aware of how unforeseen factors could affect a performance.
I waited for Elvis in the dressing room after the show. Before long, he sent for me from the adjacent room. When I entered, I saw two gorgeous women dressed in fur coats seated on either side of a man who Elvis introduced as Prince Adnan Khashoggi. The women seemed completely enthralled by Elvis, hanging on his every word as the men conversed. I sat beside Elvis and listened quietly.
Prince Khashoggi and the ladies had no sooner left when Elvis turned to me and said, “I had to use the bathroom the whole time.” As he hastened to the men’s room, he glanced over his shoulder at me and grinned. “I bet that’s the first time you ever saw a prince and a king in the same room together,” he said.
As the door closed behind him, I couldn’t help but laugh.
• • •
Our prayers were answered on Friday, December 10, when Vernon was released from the hospital. Once Vernon was back at the Hilton, Elvis visited alone with his father in his room. Afterward, Elvis told me he wanted his father to return to Memphis so he could rest from the hustle and bustle of Las Vegas.
At the same time, Elvis was worried about Vernon being on the airplane and having a sudden relapse during the flight. Vernon argued that he was feeling well enough to remain in Las Vegas. In the end, Elvis agreed to let his dad stay through his last show.
Meanwhile, Elvis decided he wanted me to have more clothing and arranged for me to go shopping with Joe’s girlfriend, Shirley. She had been a cocktail waitress in Las Vegas, Elvis said, and really knew her way around.
I was excited about the outing. Shirley was energetic and talkative. However, as we rode around Las Vegas in a car together, Shirley immediately brought up Elvis and began asking questions about the two of us. I wasn’t one to open up with someone I didn’t know. I certainly didn’t want to discuss my relationship with Elvis with anyone outside my family. I kept the conversation light and easy, dodging her questions as gracefully as possible.
Fortunately, before long we pulled up to a store called Suzy Creamcheese. It was a high-end boutique filled with clothing like nothing I’d ever seen back in Memphis.
As I browsed through the apparel, Shirley occasionally handed me some pieces she thought were nice and picked out a few for herself. I ended up choosing some clothing that I hoped Elvis would like as well. Shirley paid for our new outfits with money I assumed Joe had given her from Elvis.
We returned to the Hilton and, later that evening, Elvis sent his Lockheed JetStar to Memphis, picking up my parents and siblings; my sister-in-law, Carolyn; and Terry’s boyfriend, Tony. Billy Stanley, who had left after Elvis’s Anaheim show, was on the flight, too, along with the wife and the son of one of the bodyguards. Everyone arrived in Las Vegas in time for Elvis’s second show.
During portions of his first show, Elvis had performed some of his songs while seated on a stool. His leg was still not 100 percent pain-free, and I hoped he wouldn’t injure it any further.
Afterward, we returned to the suite so he could relax and, before long, I was told my family had arrived. Excited, I called their room, telling them I’d see them soon.
Close to showtime, a bodyguard was sent to my family’s suite and they were escorted downstairs. I slipped into a peach velvet gown, put on my evening shoes, and followed Joe back to the showroom. This time Joe left me to make my own way toward the usual booth.
As I went to sit down, I did a double take as I noticed my
brother smiling at me. I had walked right past my family without recognizing them in the booth beside mine! Had I really been away from home that long? Had my new experiences with Elvis over the past weeks completely altered my perception?
Realizing what I’d done, I quickly backed up and joined them.
It was surreal but wonderful to gather my family around me here in Las Vegas. Finally, the people I loved were in one place. Vernon and Sandy soon entered, taking a seat in the booth beside ours.
I had barely begun visiting with my family when the lights dimmed and Joe returned, telling me that Elvis wanted me to sit in the booth with his father.
I was momentarily taken aback. Why didn’t Elvis want me sitting with my own family? Knowing how ill Vernon had been, though, I whispered to my family, “I think Elvis wants me to keep Vernon and Sandy company,” and moved to the next booth.
As Elvis’s intro theme began to play, I was excited for my family. Now they would experience the same incredible feeling I’d had the first time I saw Elvis’s show as his guest instead of an audience member. Elvis appeared to put extra effort into his overall performance and, other than a few sound problems, it was a good show. I was extremely happy and proud.
A memorable moment in the show for me was when someone in the audience shouted, “Elvis, I love you!” and he was quick to retort, “Ginger, is that you?” Elvis had mentioned my name in front of the crowd, and my family was right here!
Afterward, my family was escorted to the penthouse suite and I stayed behind with Elvis in his dressing room so he could change. He stepped out, looking incredibly handsome in a blue silk shirt, black pants, and black boots. As usual, he greeted others who’d been waiting and chatted graciously with them.
Once we were in the elevator and heading up to the penthouse, however, I could tell by his nervous mannerisms and little things Elvis said that he was anxious about meeting my family. This was something I again found endearing, if hard to believe. This was Elvis! What did he have to feel nervous about?