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

by Ginger Alden

  “Elvis, David was only being playful,” I said.

  But Elvis’s mood wouldn’t lift. “If David touches you again, I want to know,” he said.

  I left things there, wondering whether Elvis was acting like this because he felt bad about the earlier incident, when he’d been the one to hit me.

  Elvis chose to mainly stay in his room that day and I read with him for a little while. Later, I went outside with Rosemary and Terry. At one point, we began talking to David and Ricky.

  Shortly, someone came out and said Elvis wanted to see me. I returned to our room, where Elvis was seated on the bed. “What were you, Ricky, and David talking about?” he asked.

  Our bedroom window faced the lawn where we’d all been gathered outside; now I realized Elvis must have been watching us. “Nothing in particular,” I said.

  Did he think we were talking about him? Or could something else be going on between Elvis and his stepbrothers that I didn’t know about? I didn’t dare ask what was going on; I was still feeling a little tentative around Elvis after the juice incident and didn’t want to chance upsetting him in any way. I chose to change the subject.

  Elvis never explained what he’d been worried about, but he continued to look at David in a strange way that day, as if he were trying to keep an eye on him.

  • • •

  Elvis and I went down to the beach the following afternoon. The wind kicked up, blowing sand in his eyes, and they got irritated. Discouraged and uncomfortable, Elvis wasn’t really able to enjoy himself now, so he decided it was time for us to head home.

  On March 13, we boarded the plane back to the mainland. Elvis carried the mother-of-pearl crucifix he had purchased, but he dropped it and the base broke off. His frustrated mood quickly lightened when we entered the plane and saw a photo of Elvis when he’d pounced on top of Rosemary taped to Elvis’s bedroom door. We all got a chuckle out of that.

  During our return flight, Elvis mainly stayed in the back of the plane with my sisters and me again. At one point, he reflected on the trip and talked about how his guest invitations had escalated in number beyond what he’d expected.

  “Next time, I’m only taking about eight people,” Elvis said, adding that Dr. Nichopoulos had told him he wouldn’t come unless his wife and daughters came, too. “I’ll never have that many again,” he vowed.

  Elvis also wasn’t pleased because one of his aides had popped up and told him he was quitting when we got back. He said he had paid for his trip and the aide had decided to tell him this while he was trying to relax.

  Still, I was happy we’d gone to Hawaii, not only because a dream of mine had come true, but because the trip had been good for Elvis overall. He had gone outside more and relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen him do up until now. He’d also gotten to know my sisters better and really enjoyed their company.

  Elvis was a wonderful and caring person 98 percent of the time. His bad mood swings were out of character, and I now fully attributed them to the prescribed medication he’d been taking. I wanted to take care of him. I knew there would be challenges ahead. Love could be hard and steep, shaking us at our roots, but I was sure we could make it through.

  CHAPTER 20

  When we landed in Memphis, my sisters went home and I returned to Graceland with Elvis. There, I was astonished to discover that the bathroom in his office had been redecorated in turquoise and white. Even the salon chair, which Elvis had told me belonged to his mother, had been reupholstered.

  I couldn’t believe Elvis had this done while we were away! This meant the world to me! It looked beautiful and we were both pleased by the results. It was nice having a room at Graceland decorated according to my taste. Elvis wasn’t wasting time in taking steps to make me feel more at home here, and it was working.

  Dr. Nichopoulos had tried to help Elvis with his eye problem before leaving Hawaii, but Elvis’s eyes were still irritated from the sand, so Elvis asked his eye doctor to come to Graceland. That’s when I was surprised to learn he had glaucoma. As Elvis lay in bed, the doctor examined his eyes and told me what a good patient Elvis had been in the past. Once, when Elvis was on tour, the doctor said, the pressure was building so fast in one of his eyes that he was called in and had to stick a syringe in his cornea to help relieve it.

  “Elvis didn’t even flinch,” the doctor said.

  I could tell Elvis was proud about this as he described how he’d put himself in a meditative state in order not to blink.

  The doctor gave me instructions for helping Elvis care for his eyes. I stayed at Graceland, getting up through the night to administer eye cream and replace his bandages.

  The doctor returned the next day to check Elvis’s eyes and seemed pleased by the results. “They look much better,” he told me. “You did a great job.” I felt a mixture of relief for Elvis and pride that I was able to help.

  Joe had given Elvis some of the photos he’d taken in Hawaii. Elvis’s eyes were bothering him too much for him to look at the pictures then, but now we went through them together, reliving the good time we’d had. Elvis picked out one photograph of me looking over my shoulder and put it in a frame on the night table by his bed. I was touched that he wanted the picture there.

  When he told me he was feeling better, I told Elvis I needed to go home for a bit, unpack, say hi to my family, and see Odyssey. Before I left, I kissed him and said, “Elvis, this trip meant so much. Thank you for taking me.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, and as souvenirs of our time together, Elvis gave me some of the photos Joe had taken and the mother of pearl cross he’d brought back.

  I ran into Charlie on my way out the door, who said, “You know, the only reason we went to Hawaii was because of you.”

  “Thanks for letting me know, Charlie,” I said. Having him point this out was a sweet ending to our holiday.

  • • •

  I’d felt closer than ever to Elvis since our trip. The redecorated bathroom did feel like my room, a gift from Elvis, welcoming me into his home. Elvis had his sanctuary and now I had mine. This bathroom was a place where I could keep my things, such as toiletries and some clothes.

  In addition, now that I was the owner of some amazing jewelry, one day Elvis said, “You should have something nice to keep it in.” He went into his bathroom and returned with a large, beautiful jewelry box. It was made of rich wood inlaid with copper and brass. Placing the box beside me on the bed, Elvis opened a couple of the red velvet-lined drawers, removed a few pieces of his own jewelry from them, and gave the box to me.

  I kept it in my new bathroom at Graceland, feeling this was a place where my engagement ring and other valuable pieces would always be safe.

  I usually dressed in the bathroom and applied my makeup there. I had always worn my eye makeup dark, and took care to wear it that way after once having Elvis comment, “Your eyes look different today,” when I’d changed it a little.

  Many times, I slept in my eye makeup. The first time I washed my face and Elvis saw me without the usual mascara and shadow, he teasingly called me Little Two because, according to him, without my makeup on, I looked like a two-year-old. Whenever Elvis saw me without eye makeup after that, I was Little Two. Otherwise, his old endearment, Chicken Neck, soon became interchanged with a new one, Gingerbread.

  Not long afterward, Elvis asked me to bring him a picture taken of me when I was a child. I brought him a wallet-size school photo from first grade. Elvis inserted it into the corner of the framed picture of me in Hawaii, then placed it back on his night table where it would remain for the rest of our time together.

  I also believe that Elvis felt closer to me too. He began to share more of himself, bringing me deeper into his world.

  For instance, one night Elvis was in a reflective mood and said he wanted to show me his high school. I was eager to see it and happy that he wanted to share this piece o
f his past with me. We put on our leather jackets and helmets, climbed onto one of his Harley hogs, and headed toward the back gate.

  It was our very first time out alone like this, without any friends, aides, or bodyguards, and it felt wonderful to have Elvis all to myself.

  Riding toward downtown Memphis, we eventually turned onto a street and a large redbrick building came into view. Elvis turned his head and shouted through the face shield of his helmet, “Humes High School.”

  We cruised slowly by the school, then circled around and rode down a few more streets. At a housing project called Lauderdale Courts, Elvis slowed down again and then came to a stop.

  “This is one of the places where I grew up,” he said, again looking back at me.

  As I looked at the older, nondescript, three-story brick building, thinking surely the apartments couldn’t have been spacious when he was there, I found it hard to imagine Elvis living here at all. It looked too small for his larger-than-life persona.

  We sat there for a few minutes, silently contemplating the housing project. Neither of us had really talked about our childhoods yet. We had been too busy dealing with the present and talking about our possible future together to delve into the past.

  Staying so fully aware of his humble roots was the real reason, I felt, that Elvis was inspired to be so giving to others: He knew what it was like to do without.

  As we slowly began pulling away from the curb, Elvis looked over his shoulder at me. “Man, you wouldn’t believe how small my home in Tupelo was,” he said with a laugh.

  I held on to him a little tighter, hoping he would take me there one day.

  Another night, Elvis asked, “Would you like to see the trophy room?”

  “Yes,” I said enthusiastically. I wasn’t even aware that he had one at his home.

  I followed him downstairs, where we passed through the living room and music room before entering a long room where framed gold records lined the walls and display cases were filled with trophies and awards.

  Elvis took my hand as we slowly began walking down an aisle. Every now and then, he’d stop to point out various honors. The room was littered with gifts from fans, too. As we passed by a framed painting of the Lisa Marie, a gift from a fan, Elvis stopped, picked it up, and said, “You can have this.”

  It was a kind offer as I knew he was proud of the plane. Looking about the room at one point, curiously detached, he said, “You know, sometimes this seems like it’s all someone else’s.”

  As I stood beside him, surveying the broad scope of all he had done, highlighted here by records, trophies, and photographs, the enormity of his accomplishments hit me full force. And these markers were just the tip of the iceberg! No wonder it was difficult for him to fully fathom that he had experienced all of this.

  At the back of the room, we paused in front of a full-size painting of a younger Elvis. He was portrayed against a gold sky, dressed all in white and standing among some clouds.

  An artist in Las Vegas had painted it, Elvis said, marveling, “He basically took one look at me and drew it in detail. Man, he really captured my likeness, right down to the veins in my hands.”

  It was a beautiful painting, and after admiring it for a few more moments, Elvis nonchalantly said, “I want you to have this.”

  I was completely flabbergasted. This painting? Does he want me to take it right now?

  “Thank you,” I said with a surprised laugh, “but, Elvis, I don’t think it will fit anywhere in my home.”

  “In your parents’ new home,” Elvis corrected me, seriously.

  “Is it okay to leave it here for now,” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t be offended.

  “That’s fine,” he said, with a soft smile.

  Back upstairs, Elvis’s generous mood expanded even more. Leading me into the dressing area of his bathroom, he gave me the most singular piece of jewelry I’d ever seen: his own large ram’s head necklace in gold, inlaid with diamonds and emeralds.

  “Always wear it with something black,” he instructed.

  It was around this time that Elvis decided I should have a bank account. He put Vernon in charge of opening one for me. Elvis put $5,000 into the account and I received a credit card. I had made a little money from working at the dress shop, but I was awestruck. This amount of money might have seemed small to some, but to me it was, quite literally, a fortune. I had never even owned personal checks or a credit card!

  Elvis gave me more personal items whenever the mood struck him. His generosity was not just reserved for me though. I would later learn that Elvis gave away personal items to many that he knew and had often gifted everyone around him—doctors, nurses, maids, relatives, aides, friends—with things ranging from money, jewelry, and furs to cars and homes. At times he seemed to want to take care of the whole world.

  • • •

  Since Elvis’s last tours, I had begun to see a pattern of him needing more help to go to sleep as a concert tour approached. He would take his usual sleep packet, then wake up shortly afterward, alert and asking for Tish Henley, the nurse who lived out back with her husband, to bring him additional medication, either pills or a shot of something to help him sleep.

  I was troubled by this increased demand for medication. I felt giving more was a step in the wrong direction. However, Tish was a nurse and because of that, I put trust in her actions. My understanding was that she worked under the direction of Dr. Nichopoulos, so I had to assume that she was dispensing medication to Elvis only under the doctor’s supervision. I could see where performing would be on Elvis’s mind, perhaps making him increasingly anxious, but I wished there were some way I could encourage him to just try an alternative way to ease into sleep without relying on prescription drugs.

  One morning, as Elvis called for Tish to bring him medication, I summoned up my nerve and told him, “Elvis, you don’t really need that.”

  He looked at me and shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he replied. “I need it.” I wondered—not for the first time—if Elvis had built up an immunity to whatever medication he’d been taking on a regular basis, and that’s why he needed an increase in dosage. Whatever the case, I could only hope the medical professionals overseeing his care knew what they were doing.

  The day before Elvis’s next tour started, he brought me home so I could quickly pack a few things to take along. I hadn’t purchased many clothes outside of the two times Elvis had sent me shopping during his Las Vegas engagement. Elvis had no idea that Terry was still loaning me some of her clothing. My mother said she would help me iron a couple of things; as she set up an ironing board in our foyer, I handed her one of Terry’s garments.

  While Elvis watched my mother iron, he said, “You gotta get Ginger ready. She’s gonna marry me.”

  I blushed.

  “I’m ironing as fast as I can,” my mother teased, and pretended to iron faster.

  Before long, with bodyguards in tow as usual, Elvis and I left for Graceland. A few minutes later, we passed some young men and women who had pulled over to the side of the road; they were obviously having car trouble.

  Elvis slowed, put his window down, and asked if they needed any help.

  “No,” one of the women replied, then screamed as we pulled away and she recognized Elvis.

  I looked back and got tickled when I saw her telling her friends. Each of them turned to look our way. This was one time I was sure they wished they’d accepted help from a stranger.

  On March 23, we flew to Arizona for the start of Elvis’s next tour. A couple of days later, Elvis had my brother flown in to Norman, Oklahoma, to learn the ropes as extra security. Elvis had been asking Mike about leaving his job with the fire department and coming to work for him. This was a big decision for my brother. But Elvis, as usual, was persistent and hard to turn down. Mike stayed only a couple of days, and I really didn’t get a ch
ance to spend any alone time with him, but I found myself hoping things would work out. It would be comforting to have a member of my own family on staff.

  One of our stops on the tour was Louisiana, but after a few performances, Elvis told me he didn’t feel well. I placed my palm to his forehead. This was the first time I’d ever seen Elvis truly look ill. He was perspiring and his head felt warm to me.

  “I don’t want to push myself,” Elvis said, and asked me to get in touch with Dr. Nichopoulos.

  Dr. Nichopoulos came to the room. He didn’t tell me what was wrong, and Elvis was finally able to go to sleep. When he woke later, however, he still wasn’t feeling well. Elvis told me he needed to speak with some people about his upcoming shows, so I went to my room.

  Finally, after much discussion with various men in Elvis’s entourage, it was decided that the tour would be canceled and Elvis would go into a hospital back home. I was very concerned about Elvis, but felt comforted by the thought that in a hospital they’d really be able to diagnose what was wrong and monitor his health.

  We flew back to Memphis and went to Graceland. Elvis was going to check into Baptist Memorial Hospital. I wanted to go with him, but Elvis now said that he was feeling so bad, he’d rather have someone take me home while he went to the hospital.

  This worried me even more, but he was insistent. “I’ll call you from there,” he promised.

  Members of his entourage gathered around and they jumped into action, taking off with Elvis and leaving me at the proverbial curb.

  At home, I didn’t hear anything for hours. I decided to call Graceland and spoke with Aunt Delta, but she had no news. Elvis finally called me that night to say the hospital was running some tests.

  He called me again the next day and said hello. He wasn’t feeling any worse, thankfully, but when I said I’d like to come and see him, Elvis told me that right now he needed to go over business with some people.