Elvis and I had teeter-tottered through the late summer and fall of 1976 as a couple, but our changing circumstances were undeniable. Up until then, he had always saved his affairs for California, or Vegas, or the road, out of some form of respect, since they wouldn’t get back to me as easily (although, of course, they sometimes did). And so when I learned that he’d gone out with another girl in Memphis a few times that fall, I had to admit to myself that we’d moved past the point of no return.
In late November, we were on tour—Elvis was performing two shows at the Cow Palace in San Francisco—when he approached me with a change of plans.
“Honey, I brought the plane in for you, to take you back to Memphis tomorrow,” Elvis said after his first show. “I thought you might want to go back to Memphis and see your mom and dad.”
“Really?” I asked.
He nodded his head. We had been in San Francisco for a couple of days. There had been nothing in his behavior or manner that suggested anything was out of the ordinary.
“Really?” I asked. “You brought the plane in from Memphis, just for me?”
“Yeah,” he said.
I was well aware by this time that he was dating a girl in Memphis. And I just knew in my bones that he’d brought in the plane from Memphis with her on it, because he’d wanted to see her. And now he was sending me away, without any further explanation.
“Okay,” I said.
Without another word, I went to my own dressing room. I gathered up all my stuff, packing my clothes, and my books, and my cosmetics. By the time I got into bed, Elvis was almost asleep, but turned to kiss me good night.
“I love you, Ari,” he said.
I was exhausted. Physically. Emotionally. Psychologically. No matter how much I cared for him, I just couldn’t do it anymore, coming and going at his whim, watching him hell bent on his own destruction. No matter how much I sacrificed my own well being for his, there would always be other women. I was heartbroken. But I was ready for it to be over.
The next day, we awoke around noon and had our breakfast. I gathered my luggage, and I prepared to say my farewell. I didn’t know it would be the last time I ever saw Elvis alive. I went to where Elvis stood, waiting to say goodbye to me.
“All right, I’ll head back to Memphis then,” I said.
“Yeah, I’ll be home in a couple of days,” he said. “You’ll enjoy spending some time with your mom and dad. Give you a break. I know you’re tired. You’re on the road with me all the time.”
“So you’re telling me that you didn’t bring somebody else in from Memphis?” I asked, knowing well what the answer was. “You know you didn’t need to bring the plane in just for me. I’m happy to fly commercially. I like to be around other people.”
“No, you fly on the plane,” he said. “Of course I brought it in just for you.”
“Really?” I said. “You’re going to stand here and tell me that you didn’t bring somebody else in on that plane?”
“Honey, oh my God, are you kidding me?” he said. “I love you. I don’t love anybody else. There’s nobody else.”
He was right, I was tired—of being on the road, of waking up past noon every day, most of all, of his attempts to deceive me, and to deceive himself. I was worn weary trying to always be the understanding, strong, forgiving, loving, self-sacrificing martyr. It no longer fit me. As I’d soon learn, there was another girl, Ginger, whom he’d had put on the floor below us. At that very moment, she was in a holding pattern, waiting for him to bring her up when I left. I didn’t have to hear him admit there had been a girl on the plane to know there had been a girl on the plane. And this time I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.
“You don’t have another girl here?” I asked.
“Look at me,” he said, while drawing me in as close to him as possible. “Look me in the eye. I love you. I don’t love anybody else. There is nobody. But I want you to know, if you ever hear anything, or see anything, or read anything about me with anybody else, I just want you to know I don’t love anybody else. I just love you. I don’t love anybody else. I will always love you. You’re my girl. You’re my little Ariadne Pennington, three years old. You’re my sweetheart. I love you. You’re it for me.”
He held my gaze as he spoke, fervently and with great conviction, and tears brimmed from his eyes. He held me longer than usual and kissed me tenderly. I knew he was telling the truth about loving me. And maybe at the time, he hadn’t fallen in love with Ginger yet, and what he’d said about loving only me was true as well. But I’m sure he loved Ginger soon enough. He loved Priscilla. He loved me. He probably loved models Ann Pennington and Sheila Ryan, who were two of the steadier women he saw on the side when he and I were living together. Elvis had a tremendous capacity to love. He loved women, and we loved him.
That was the thing about Elvis—when he told you he loved you, you never questioned it. I never felt more deeply loved in my life than in the moments when he spoke of his love for me, even in this bittersweet moment when we were parting. As I’ve said, he had this way of loving so hard I could actually hear him grinding his teeth. He loved Lisa like that. I had heard him grit his teeth as he put her to bed at night, saying: “Daddy loves you so much. I just want to squeeze the life out of you.”
I was well aware that I had a part of his heart that nobody else had, and I would possess it until the day he died. And that knowledge comforted me, even as my heart was breaking at the fact that he’d just looked me in the eye and lied to me before sending me away. But I was past fighting. I let it go.
“Okay, honey,” I said. “I love you, too. You know that I love you. I will always love you.”
I suppose the moment could aptly be described as a final goodbye without either of us knowing it. It was, in fact, as I said, the very last time I saw Elvis alive. We kissed. We hugged. We loved. We cuddled. I felt sad, but also wise. I felt secure in my certainty that I knew what was really going on between us. I didn’t need to confront him with his lie. My personal knowledge was enough for me to make the decisions I needed to make in order to take back my life and my future. All of this enlightenment came to me in a flash. At the same time, I knew that I loved him so deeply and unreservedly that I would never love anybody else in the same way. And I knew my heart would require a long, long time to heal.
I went back to Memphis alone on his JetStar. Now that his womanizing had become so blatant it was too hurtful for me, I didn’t want to put up with it anymore. I also knew I had to face the fact that, no matter how diligently I watched over him, I probably would not be able to keep him alive. It would have been even more devastating for me if I had actually been the one to find him no longer breathing. I had been trying for several months to wean myself off him emotionally as much as I could—building my strength, discovering what my life without him could be. He had found another woman to keep him company and take care of him. I figured this was the moment to let him go on with his life, while I went on with mine.
When I arrived back at Graceland, I started slowly gathering up my possessions. I called my daddy and asked him to come over and help me move my belongings from Graceland to my house. Several days went by, and I didn’t hear from Elvis at all. I was sure he was with someone else. I figured he must have been a little embarrassed and more than likely afraid to confront the awkward fact that I knew.
It was December and approaching our favorite holiday. I still had my American Express card, and I used it to purchase a few Christmas gifts for people. Most important, I bought a big beautiful diamond ring for Elvis. It was yellow gold, with a concave design backed in black and surrounded in diamonds, so that it looked almost like a volcano set with diamonds.
Soon after I made that purchase, Mr. Presley canceled the card. I knew Elvis would never have done such a thing, but I understood why his dad had acted in this way. It was clear to everyone that I was moving my things out of Graceland and into my home around the corner. I wasn’t afraid to leave behind the opulent lif
e, nor the tattered remnants of the fairy-tale façade I’d inhabited for the past four and a half years. I had faith there was a more modest yet normal life that awaited me on the other side of those famous Graceland gates.
I sat down and wrote Elvis a two-page letter that attempted to express everything I was feeling—the sense of loss, the gratitude for having had the privilege of loving him and having that love returned to me. I let him know I was aware that he was with someone else, but I hoped he would be happy. I assured him with these parting words: “You are and will always remain the love of my life. In all honesty, I never want to love that way again. I have already known the ‘pain of too much tenderness,’ ” quoting Khalil Gibran’s The Prophet. I told him I would I always be just a phone call away, if he ever needed me for anything. I meant each and every word with all of my heart.
It was nearly two weeks before Christmas, and I hadn’t spoken to Elvis even once since I’d left San Francisco. It was the longest we’d ever gone without speaking—or seeing each other—since we’d met. I knew that wherever he was, and whomever he was with, he was distracted, which meant that he was distracted enough for me to really leave.
I gave the letter and the ring to Elvis’s cousin Billy Smith. Elvis and I had spent a lot of time with him and his wife, Jo, over the years. I trusted Billy to be my messenger.
“Billy, I’m moving out of Graceland,” I said. “Please give Elvis this ring and this letter, and tell him I said, ‘Merry Christmas and I love you.’ ”
My daddy came to Graceland and helped me load the last of my belongings into the Cadillac Elvis had given me. I was able to take all that was left in one final load. Before I got into my car, loaded with the clothing I had once worn with Elvis by my side, I paused in our upstairs area. I took one last look at the organ where we once sat and sang together, laughing, as I taught him my silly Alpha Delta Pi sorority songs. I breathed in one long, last breath of the rarefied air in Elvis’s most private sanctuary—his bedroom. I picked up his pillow, buried my face in it, and breathed in again. I was struck with a profound sadness as his lingering scent reminded me of the closeness we had shared. It was the right decision to leave, but it was a gut-wrenching one. With no exalted sense of ego on my part, I was sincerely fearful that Elvis would not live long. That made leaving all the more painful.
As we finally drove down the long driveway, just before the gate, my daddy glanced at me.
“How do you feel?” he said.
“Relieved,” I said.
We drove around the corner to my house. Since Elvis had bought it for me, I’d probably only spent seven nights there, total. I’d always been at Graceland. So it was a huge adjustment to begin staying there by myself. I missed Elvis terribly. At the same time, I was grateful for every life experience I’d had with him—even in the early, painful days of our split, I was glad for all the love shared and the lessons I’d learned during my time with Elvis. I’m still appreciative today. I also felt thankful for finding the strength I wasn’t sure I had to actually leave Elvis, and to do so with sincerely loving wishes, gratitude, kindness, and an open door.
Billy and I later talked about the moment when he gave Elvis my letter and the ring. He was too loyal to Elvis to divulge anything that was more private than Elvis would have wanted me to know, now that I was his ex-girlfriend. I wouldn’t have wanted Billy to betray Elvis’s confidence anyway. But he did speak honestly to me about Elvis’s reaction.
“I gave him the letter, and he read it, and he was very moved by it,” Billy said. “He was very quiet and just held on to it. Then, I gave him the ring, and he thought it was beautiful. He was just sad. It was just a sad moment.”
Aunt Delta also later told me a story about bringing Elvis something to eat one night after I’d left. She found him upstairs at the organ with my letter spread out across the top. He was crying and singing “Unchained Melody,” which goes, “Time goes by so slowly And time can do so much Are you still mine?”
“Are you all right, son?” she asked.
“Aunt Delta, you don’t forget about someone overnight that you’ve been with for nearly five years,” he said. “It’s going to take a long time. I’m really sad.”
I missed Elvis and our love for each other, but we only actually spoke on the phone two or three times in the eight months we were apart before he died. And yet, I never really felt like Elvis and I were totally done. And neither did he, apparently. My brother, Sam, who’d left his job as a sheriff’s deputy in 1976 and went to work for Elvis full-time as his personal bodyguard and tour advance man, was still working for Elvis after our breakup. In fact, he was there until the end. He told me about how Elvis called him in to see him, maybe four or five months after I’d left.
“Sam, I just wanted to talk to you for a minute,” Elvis said. “You know that I’ve loved your sister for a long time.”
“Yes, I know, but life goes on and people move on,” Sam said.
“We’re not done,” Elvis said. “We’re not finished. Our story’s not over yet. I just wanted you to know that. I just wanted you to know that Linda and I are not finished.”
Fate has a way of working itself out, and life unfolds as it is meant to. We will never know what might have been if Elvis had been given the gift of a longer life. I am saddened to this day that he left us far too early. I, like millions of others, would just be happy to know he was still a living presence in our world, no matter what he might now be doing, and no matter who he might choose to be with.
“Every Time You Cross My Mind”
There’s a hole in the sky
Where the sun used to shine
Back in the days
When I called you mine
And the stars lost their light
There’s no candle that glows
The moon’s out of sight
And I just don’t know.
I don’t have any teardrops left to cry
There’s no emotion left
Not since we said goodbye
The only time I know I’m still alive
Is by the way that my heart feels
Every time you cross my mind
Empty spaces ahead
Time is something to dread
Whatever you did
Or maybe what I said
Can we forgive and forget
Could we try it again
Or will my life forever be
A memory of what’s been?
I don’t have any teardrops left to cry
There’s no emotion left
Not since you said goodbye
The only time I know I’m still alive
Is by the way that my heart feels
Every time you cross my mind
LYRIC: LINDA THOMPSON
Chapter Eleven
Hee Haw Honey
Literally overnight, I stopped flying on a customized private airplane, staying in presidential suites, and having people pack and unpack for me and cook my meals, all while I was doted on by the world’s most famous, gorgeous, and charismatic rock star. Yes, the experience had encouraged me to blossom from an innocent college student into a woman of the world. And Elvis had been generous enough to give me my own house, a collection of gorgeous designer clothes, and great jewelry. But my day-to-day reality was clearly much more modest now. And much more normal and peaceful.
After spending the holidays in Memphis with my family, I flew out to Los Angeles. I was seeking some distance from my old existence at Graceland, and I wanted to fully dedicate myself to pursuing my career and placing myself at the center of this new moment in my life. I’d put the jewelry Elvis had given me in a safe-deposit box in the bank. I now lived alone in my two-bedroom apartment in West L.A., surrounded by vestiges of my former life, including Elvis’s furniture, and paintings, and the memories they evoked.
But the disparity between the before and after of my life with Elvis didn’t make me feel at all diminished. I had known this more ordinary life until I’d met
Elvis, and I was comfortable returning to these circumstances now. It was, after all, what I had finally chosen for myself. Besides, I’ve always thought we need to be like a rubber ball, bouncing with resiliency. When you hit rock bottom, know that you’ll bounce right back up, probably only to plummet again and repeat the process.
I’ve always been an intrinsically positive person, and that remained true in these days. I was heartbroken, but I was also surprisingly optimistic. I had believed in myself enough to choose my own personal fulfillment and path forward over anyone else’s. Given the major moment of self-empowerment I’d just experienced, even the pain of my broken heart could be a source of pride. My philosophy has always been to let life flow through you, while not questioning it too much, or balking at circumstances that aren’t ideal. I chose to see the positive in the transition I was undergoing, painful as it might sometimes be. I knew I had to create fresh meaning and opportunities for myself now, opening up all new chapters in my future. My freedom was sweet, even if it came at a price.
Not that it was easy. I felt absolutely depleted. I’d given everything I possibly could have. I think it’s wonderful and rare to love unreservedly, maybe once in your life, but through that experience, I also learned to hold something back of myself, for myself. Elvis and I used to talk about this need, actually, in terms of both relationships and spirituality.
“Everybody has within them a hallowed ground, where no one else can go, and that’s their own sacred space that they have to hold on to for themselves,” Elvis said.
A Little Thing Called Life Page 19