Forever Young, Always Beautiful (E.P)

Chapter 12 - Vegas Calling!

After the success of the comeback special, Elvis was on a high. He was finally getting the right kind of attention and he loved it. All people could talk about in the press was how fabulous he’d been and that he certainly still had it. “Maybe this will mean a return to stage performances?” Joe said, one night over dinner. Elvis grinned excitedly. “I really hope so! I’d just love to get away from these damn movies once and for all; get to go back to what I love doing best.” A few months later, that opportunity came about.

A new deluxe hotel, the International, was being built in Vegas. Since Elvis was a big lover of the city, and had this newfound success, the owners of the hotel asked if Elvis would be the first act to play there. Obviously Elvis jumped at the chance, and the amount of money offered was enough to please the Colonel. So, just before he was due to shoot The Trouble With Girls, Elvis, along with the Colonel, Joe and I, travelled to Vegas to sign his contract with the International. The press had a field day, taking plenty of photographs. I got in there myself, determined not to lose an opportunity to take photos of him for the fans. After the signing, we all returned to our cars. “Hey Joe; why don’t you take Annie’s car? She’ll ride with me.” Elvis suggested. Joe raised an eyebrow; he was confused and with good reason. Joe always rode with Elvis, being his right hand man, and hadn’t been in a separate car since 1960. Also, we’d managed to keep the latest development in our relationship a secret from everyone. But when Elvis placed him hand on my waist and pulled me tight to his side, it was obviously that Joe understood, loud and clear. Without another word, Joe walked off to my car and got in. “I don’t think he took that not so discreet confession well, E.” I whispered, letting him lead me to the car. “He’ll get over it. He and guys have be joking for years that we’d end up together…” “But we’re not together, are we? You’re married and I’m just another piece on the side.” I should have ended our affair right there. I should have told him it had been bothering me; even though I lusted after him madly and couldn’t stop thinking about the next time we’d be together, I couldn’t forget Priscilla for one second and what we were doing to her. But I didn’t. Because before I could say even one word, Elvis’ lips were on mine. Once he had somehow managed to unbutton my blouse and unclip my bra, he pulled away and looked me dead in the eyes. “Honey, if you think you’re ‘just another piece on the side’, you’re mistaken.” To this day, I have no idea how our poor driver concentrated on the road with all the noise we were making.

Opening nights were always the craziest; people rushing around madly, trying to locate items, arranged everything and make sure the star of the show is satisfied with everything going on. The opening night of Elvis’ stint at the International was no exception. MM members ran round like headless chickens, attending to Elvis’ every need. Priscilla had flown in from L.A. to watch the show, so everyone was excited to see her. I hadn’t seen her in months, and was afraid that my guilty conscience would make my mouth run. I kept my distance for most of the evening, choosing to help set up the stage rather than sit and play my role of the best friend. It was until the final minutes before show time, when Priscilla had taken her seat that Elvis called for me. “Walk me to the stage, honey?” He asked me, taking my hand in his. I nodded, squeezing his hand gently. We walked through the corridors backstage, with several MM members and Vernon behind us. Elvis looked extremely handsome, witch a healthy tan and his hair newly styled. It was at this first show that he wore the prototype of what would become his most iconic look: the jumpsuit. On this occasion, a black jumpsuit was chosen. It was slimming, and Elvis still felt that he had a few more pounds to shed before he was back to an ideal weight. “I’m not as young as I once was, but I’d sure as hell like to be that slim again!” He told me when he was choosing the material and colour of this now iconic stage outfit. A pop of colour was added to the black jumpsuit with the red scarf-like belt that rested around his hips. He looked breath taking. We stood in the wings as the band played the intro music and I could feel Elvis’ palm beginning to sweat. “E, there’s no need to be nervous. They love you.” I assured him. He looked down at me, panic filling every inch of his beautiful face. “But what if I’m no good, Annie? What if I’ve lost it? There’s so many people out there; important people.” “You’re better than all those other stars…” I began to say. “No, not them: the fans, Annie. What if I let them down?” I smiled and laid my hand gently on his cheek. “You haven’t let them down yet. Remember when you went to Germany, and you were worried they’d forget about you? But you came home and they still absolutely adored you! Think of every stinkin’ movie they sat through. Think of every lousy record they sang along to – You remember Confidence? Remember that one? – and bought? They still love you and they always will.” I kissed his lips softly, not bothering to check who was around. “And so will I. Now go out there and own that stage. Do it for me; for Lisa; for your Momma, who I just know is lookin’ down on you from heaven, smiling. And she is so proud of you.” Elvis wiped away his tears and laughed. “You’d made a great motivational speaker.” He said, taking a tissue from Joe’s outstretched hand. I shrugged. “One of my few talents, I guess.” Elvis gave me one last kiss before walking out into the spotlight.

After the opening show, Elvis was whisked off to do a press conference. Naturally, I joined him. Red and Charlie escorted me into the large, hall like room, where a hundred or so reporters, journalists and photographers were waiting eagerly to be graced with Elvis' presence. Some of the press members recognised me from previous run-ins they'd had with Elvis, and they called out to me. "What did you think of the show, Miss?" One called. "Do you think Elvis is still the King?" Another asked. "Now, gentlemen please. She's not the one you're here to see." The Colonel appeared by my side, and placed a firm grip on my elbow. Disgusted by his touch (I never liked the man, no matter what he helped Elvis accomplish), I pulled away from him and smiled at the reporters. "I'm not the one you're here to see. And besides, you'd think after all this time, y'all would at least learn my name. Ain't that what journalists are good at? Finding things out and snoopin? Now, boys, I'm just here to take photos of my boss. Cos that's what E is: my boss and my friend. Excuse me." I gave them a little wave and followed Red and Charlie up onto the stage. "How's your dial? You must have turned the Southern Charm setting up to full." Red whispered, chuckling. I smiled and gave him a wink. "Only because it pisses the Colonel off somethin' rotten. Don't tell E though." "Too late. Looks like the Colonel already has, judging by the smug look on his face." Before I could even so much as look at the Colonel, the crowd of reporters and photographers stood and began to applaud. Elvis walked into the room and graciously accepted their praise. He took my breath away; I'd never seen him look so handsome. The photos I took that night were some of the best I ever had and would take of him, and they're among my favourites.

The day after the press conference, we all said goodbye to Priscilla, who had to return to Los Angeles to take care of Lisa Marie. "Look after him for me? Don't let him get into any trouble." Priscilla asked me, watching Elvis hand her last suitcase to the bellhop loading the car that would take her to the airport. I nodded, and agreed. "You have nothin' to worry about, Cilla. With me around, he won't go anywhere to get into trouble." What I promised was true, to some extent. In the early days of our 'relationship' and of his first engagement in Vegas, Elvis didn't really go out that much. He spent his days and nights between his hotel room, the stage and the casino. When he wasn't preforming, he was gambling. When he wasn't gambling, he was preforming. And when he wasn't doing either, well... he was doing me! Eventually, the rest of the Memphis Mafia found out about us. We soon grew tired of hiding it from them; so one night we didn't hide at all. Right after the show, everyone would make their way up to Elvis' suite, where the good times would roll. Usually, we would wait until everyone had left, or were too drunk to notice (or remember) anything we did, before we snuck into the bedroom (separately, just in case) to start a long night of lovemaking. But, on that particular night, we only waited an hour or so. Elvis just stood up, took my hand, and said goodnight to everyone as he led me to the door of his bedroom. "You can manage to find your way out, right?" He asked, before shutting the door. Joe made jokes for years that he and guys only lasted 5 minutes on the other side of the wall. Apparently, we were very loud.

Once they found out about Elvis and I, and the new development in our relationship, the MM took it in their stride. They just seemed happy that the (other) woman their boss was sleeping with knew him well enough to know what she should and shouldn’t do. Because whenever a woman Elvis was sleeping with regularly did something she shouldn’t, it was always the MM who had to pick up the pieces. With me, they could be confident that I wouldn’t make a stupid decision. And the MM knew that Elvis couldn’t hurt me; if he did, I’d hurt him 10x as much. I was technically still a single woman; there was no wedding band on my finger, and Elvis had no real hold on me, though I did stay faithful to him throughout most of our 8 years of sexual activity. But if he crossed the line, and he did many times, I would wander. And he didn’t like that. Later, when he found out that Priscilla had had an affair, he was livid. And he took it out on me. “It’s one rule for you and another for her! And for me too!” I yelled at him. “That’s because I’m the man and you’re the women! It’s just how it is!” He yelled back. Now, I wouldn’t say Elvis was sexist; on the contrary, Elvis had a lot of respect for women and enjoyed a woman’s company and conversation. But when it came to the women he shared his bed with, there were certain rules; especially when it came to his women; he did all the talking and you hung on his arm, looking pretty. But, on this occasion, he came to see me and apologised. I couldn’t do anything but forgive him; saying sorry was a rare thing for Elvis. I had to grasp it.