Forever Young, Always Beautiful (E.P)

Chapter 9 - Those Fabulous Lads from Liverpool

Elvis was always accepting of any new artists on the scene. He enjoyed music a lot, and never really thought of other singers and musicians as competition. So when it was arranged for England’s newest import, The Beatles, to visit Elvis at his Los Angeles home, there was a definite feeling of excitement amongst us. Upon their arrival, Elvis told Priscilla and I to wait upstairs; we would be called on later. Priscilla, who, although she was excited to meet the famous band, would do absolutely anything Elvis wanted her to at that point in time, obediently waited in her and Elvis’ room upstairs. I, on the other hand, was not so easily controlled. “Where are you going?” Priscilla hissed, watching with horror as I started walking down the staircase. “Elvis should know better than to tell me what to do.” I replied. I wasn’t so selfish and stubborn that I just waltzed into the living room where everyone was sat; I knew that if I did that, Priscilla would get the blame. So I went into the kitchen and got a drink, listening to the quiet chatter that was going on between the men in the other room. About 20 minutes after I defiantly made my way downstairs, I heard Priscilla’s voice and Elvis introducing her to our guests. “Where’s Annie?” Elvis asked. “I don’t know; the kitchen, maybe?” Priscilla replied timidly. Seconds later, Joe appeared in the door way, shaking his head. “You just can’t do what you’re told, can you?” He asked, smiling. I grinned. “I’m my own woman; I’m not here to be controlled.” I followed Joe into the living room, and almost burst out laughing. The Beatles – John, Paul, George and Ringo – were all sat on the floor at Elvis’ feet, gazing up at him like he was a god. I bit my lip in an attempt to stop my laugher escaping. Elvis, knowing me all too well, smirked. “Something funny, Ann?” He asked, obviously finding the band’s adoration for him just as funny as I did. I shook my head and took a seat opposite him, behind our mop-top clad guests. As time went on, everyone relaxed, and The Beatles swapped their seats on the floor for furniture.  I watched as Elvis chatted with each of them, taking the time to have a long chat with Paul. They played bass together, and I delighted in seeing him so relaxed and just playing music. I wasn’t allowed to take any photographs of the event, so I only have my memories. I ended up having a short fling with Paul, and we continued to see each other on and off until he committed himself to his first wife, Linda Eastman. I was devastated when I’d heard that Linda had died and I went to stay with Paul and his children for 2 months after the funeral. We remain close friends even now.

That night, after waving The Beatles goodbye, Elvis came to see me in my room. I didn’t yet have a house of my own in L.A., so I was still staying with Elvis when we travelled there. I was already in my nightclothes, and just removed my makeup, when he came knocking. “Are you decent?” He asked from the other side of the door. I giggled, letting him in. He walked in, covering his eyes with his hands. “E, you’ve seen me with a towel on. For Christ’s sake: be a man.” “If I was gonna ‘be a man’, you’d have less than a towel on right now.” He replied, uncovering his eyes. I rolled my eyes and let him in, closing the door behind us. He eyed my outfit for the next day, smiling. “Why can’t Priscilla be as perfect as you?” He asked, running his hand over my dress. “As flattered as I am by that, I think you should accept Cilla for who she is, instead of trying to change her.” I told him, sitting down on the bed. “I’m just trying to improve her.” He retorted, defending himself. “For your own gain.” I muttered, checking my nails for any flakes or chips. I felt Elvis sit beside me; he remained silent, just watching me. “Why do you compare us?” I asked, finally looking up at him. He shrugged, smiling boyishly. “I guess I just compare all the women in my life to you, now that Momma’s gone.” He replied. The way he looked at me at that moment, I honestly thought he was gonna kiss me; not just a peck, but a full on make out session. But instead, he kissed my forehead and said goodnight. Confused, I resorted to physical therapy: I called the hotel where Paul was staying and spent my first night with him.

When I arrived back home the next morning, Elvis and just about everyone else in the house were staring at me. “Not like you to stay out late.” George said at last, breaking the silence. “Well, I felt like doing something wild last night.” I pulled last night’s panties from my purse and dropped them in the communal laundry basket. I nodded at Elvis, whose face had began to turn a dark shade of red. "I'm going to bed." I said quietly, more to him than to anyone else. Turning my back on him, it took everything in me not run away; I could practically feel the fumes of anger burning off him. Minutes later, as I slipped into bed, I heard Elvis yelling. A plate smashed, Priscilla screamed and then a car sped off down the street. And yet, despite all the obvious signs, I was still totally confused as to what was going through Elvis’ mind. I had no idea, until almost a year later, that it was a green eyed monster playing with his heart strings.