Forever Young, Always Beautiful (E.P)

Chapter 13 - Never Took The Time

We found out about Priscilla’s affair in early 1972. I didn’t see or speak to Elvis for well over a week once the word was out. When I was eventually allowed to speak to him, he was still absolutely seething. “How could she do this to me?” He hissed. I didn’t dare say a word; even I knew not to get on the wrong side of Elvis when he was in a mood like this. I daren’t say what was on my mind: but you’re doing with me what she’s doing with him. “I’ve given her everything a woman could want. She wants for nothing. And how does she repay me? By fucking a guy I asked to be introduced to her!” I heard him kick something, and there was an almighty crash. “Elvis!” I screamed down the phone. I was so shocked that, despite the fact I wasn’t even there with him, I started to cry. The line crackled as he picked the phone up from wherever he’d dropped it, and he spoke to me calmly. “Baby, I’m sorry. I’m just so messed up right now.” “But violence isn’t the answer, Elvis!” I told him, still sobbing. He apologised and asked to see me. “I really need the company, Ann.” He pleaded with me, which made my blood boil. “You know what, Elvis? No. You only want to see me when it suits yourself and your problems. IF you want to see me so badly, come to my room, instead of my sneakin’ around this godforsaken hotel.” I slammed the phone down, fully expecting to never hear from Elvis again; or, for at least another fortnight, when both of us had cooled off and needed one another to take the edge off things fully. Much to my surprise, a knock came from my door later night. I had no idea who it could be; the hotel staff knew not to bother me, unless I called for them. And I certainly didn’t expect it to be Elvis or any of the guys. Hesitantly, I open the door a little, with the chain latch still on. “Yes?” I asked the young man standing outside. “Ms Jenkins?” He asked me. I nodded, looking at the piece of paper in his gloved hand. “Telegram for you, ma’am. From Texas.” I thanked him, gave him a tip and closed the door as he walked away. I wondered who in Texas would be sending me telegrams. My parents had moved to Texas 6 years previously, but we were really on speaking terms. Or rather, my mother and I weren’t really on speaking terms. During the last few years, my relationship had developed with my father the way a child’s relationship should develop in the early stages of their life with this parents. He started to show a keen interest in my career, once he saw that there was something to it and I wasn’t just following Elvis around the country and not getting anything in return. We’d started to write letters to one another and began talking on the phone regularly. These thoughts made me realise that I hadn’t spoken with my father for quite some time. When we were in Vegas, I was so exhausted that I usually didn’t write to him until we got home. ‘I must call him next week when we get back to Memphis.’ I thought, as I opened the telegram… They say grief has five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. But I skipped the denial and went straight into the anger. Reading the words of that telegram snapped something in me. I flew into a rage, smashing things and throwing things against the walls. I screamed so loud, I thought I’d never say a word again. God knows what the neighbours thought was going on. But I didn’t care. I was bereft.

A few days after that awful news arrived, Jerry appeared at my door. “Annie, what’s going on, huh? We’re all worried about you; Elvis especially.” He told me through the door; I refused to let him or anyone else in. But the sound of Elvis’ name brought some emotion back to me. I slowly made my way to the door, and opened it a crack, with the chain still on. Jerry’s eyes grew wide when he saw what a state I was in; hair ragged, black makeup stains on my cheeks, silk nightwear still on but now dirty. “Get him for me. Please?” I whispered to Jerry, my voice hoarse from all the screaming and crying I had done. He nodded frantically and sprinted down the hall.

Elvis arrived 2 hours later, immediately after getting off stage at his midnight show. “Annie? Annie, what’s wrong? Annie, let me in.” He begged me through the door. I wanted him to be with me, but I was still so angry with him; even through my grief, I couldn’t let my stubbornness go. “Annie, what’s wrong? I want to help you.” He said. I could tell he was getting desperate; desperate to just to make everything all right again, like he always had. “Annie, listen: you told me the last time we spoke that I only want to see you on my terms and when I have a problem that needs fixing. Well, now you’re hurting and I want to help you. I want to be there for you and help you get through your problems. Please?” I unlatched the door and opened it wide. He’d never looked so perfect, and I’d never needed him this much. I saw the shock flash in his eyes and he took in the disaster he was facing. “My dad’s dead, E. Daddy’s dead.” I finally said it out loud, the words I’d been dreading leaving my lips. Because now, I’d finally been in denial. But Elvis was like reality clearing my mind so I could see the truth. “Honey…” Elvis whispered, pulling me close as I began to cry again. He picked me up and the next thing I knew, we were in his room. And he took care of me, all by himself. He dismissed all the guys and took it upon himself to nurse me. I had lost so much sleep, that I don’t remember much of it in great detail. I remember him requesting some new nightclothes for me prior to him dismissing everyone; I remember the sound of running water as I took a nap on his bed; I remember him carrying me to the bathroom, peeling the dirty silk from my body, and laying me in the hot water; I remember him washing my face and hair; I remember him wrapping me in a towel and laying me on his bed, where I fell asleep for 12, straight hours, with him by my side.

Two days later, as I, externally recovered, watched from the wings, Joe told me Priscilla had asked for a divorce.

About a month after their separation, Elvis was given what would become one of the most famous songs of his entire career. As we listening to little Brenda Lee singing Always On My Mind, everyone in the room knew that this was going to be a hit. “Get the band together. I want to start recording tonight.” Elvis told Joe, who quickly went about calling the TCB band. I remember the session like it was yesterday. A few takes were stopped because Elvis wasn’t happy with how things were sounding; many were stopped because Elvis and I were crying so much. Elvis wasn’t a writer of songs; he enjoyed trying, but he preferred to leave it up to the professionals. But, every time he broke down crying, I knew he’d picked this song for Priscilla. Because he was still in love with her, perhaps more than he ever had been. By the time the song was released, Priscilla and Elvis were on very good terms. They had agreed to be friends, more for Lisa’s sake than anything. But they found, in the years following their divorce, that their friendship became genuine. But they never stopped loving each other. When Elvis premiered AOMM in Vegas, Priscilla was sat in the audience. I was by her side as she cried, and I held her close, protective. I couldn’t help but see, even then, how messed up it all was.