Read Online Elvis and Ginger: Elvis Presley's Fiancée and Last Love Finally Tells Her Story by Ginger Alden - Free Book Online
Authors: Ginger Alden
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watch television while I finished saying good-bye. When I hung up, he took my hand and again I felt uneasy. Although I wasn’t a virgin, I certainly wasn’t about to leap into bed with anyone right away, even Elvis. My mind began to race for something to say, a way to explain my hesitation.
But Elvis didn’t make a move beyond holding my hand. I gradually relaxed and lay back beside him, watching television. He went to sleep holding my hand. By then daylight was visible along the edges of the closed curtains in the room. Exhausted, I finally fell asleep beside him.
• • •
Upon waking, Elvis ordered room service. GeeGee brought in the food, laying a towel in front of us on the bed and placing trays with our food on top. Elvis sat cross-legged and I followed suit as we ate, talked, and watched television.
When I finished eating, I walked over to the curtains and pulled them aside to peek at the view. The lights of Las Vegas were shining brightly. Anticipating the prospect of experiencing the city, I went into the bathroom and changed back into my clothes. When I came out, Elvis was on the telephone and I heard him arranging our return to Memphis.
Had I done something wrong? I thought it would be rude to ask if we were going sightseeing, but to fly all the way here without seeing Las Vegas seemed odd. I tried making sense of it. Maybe he had to get back for work? Or maybe Elvis just did this at times, flying someplace because he relaxed better with a change of scenery?
I may not have understood Elvis in those moments, but I consoled myself with the thought that at least I’d gotten a chance to spend more time with him. I’d flown on his plane and received beautiful gifts, and all the while Elvis had remained a gentleman. Reflecting on this, my disappointment about not seeing Las Vegas began to evaporate.
We reconnected with his cousins in our room, and what had started as a Saturday night “date” for me lasted until our return to Memphis in the early hours of Monday, November 22. We drove back from the airport to Graceland, where Elvis asked me to stay for a while. I followed him up to his bedroom, where he sat on the bed, turned on the television, and began flipping through channels with a remote control.
He stopped when a newscaster reminded us it was the anniversary of John F. Kennedy’s death. Elvis talked briefly about Kennedy’s assassination, thinking many were involved rather than there being a single shooter, and then he moved on to talk about self-defense.
At one point during this conversation, Elvis leaned over the side of his bed and sat back up with a gun in his hand. It startled me; I hadn’t noticed it on the floor before. My father owned a revolver and rifle at home, but I wasn’t used to seeing a gun up close and out in the open like this. Elvis said it was a Colt .45 and proudly showed me its turquoise handle with the initial E on one side and P on the other.
“It’s for protection,” he explained, and told me about a threatening letter he had received once while getting ready to perform in Las Vegas. “My daddy came to me one night with tears in his eyes, asking me not to go on,” he said. “I told my daddy, as a performer, the show
must
go on, so they tightened the security and I took the risk. Luckily, the letter turned out to be a fluke.”
Speaking of yet another incident during a Vegas show, Elvis told me about three thugs approaching him onstage and how he’d defended himself using karate. He laid the gun back on the floor and I could only imagine how many other frightening experiences he’d had to deal with in the past. I appreciated him sharing these stories, and was newly aware of the fear he obviously lived with on a daily basis. I understood how that fear could bring him to a point where he felt in need of constant protection.
The buttons atop a phone on his bedside table lit up then and Elvis answered, listening with a concerned look. When he hung up,
But Elvis didn’t make a move beyond holding my hand. I gradually relaxed and lay back beside him, watching television. He went to sleep holding my hand. By then daylight was visible along the edges of the closed curtains in the room. Exhausted, I finally fell asleep beside him.
• • •
Upon waking, Elvis ordered room service. GeeGee brought in the food, laying a towel in front of us on the bed and placing trays with our food on top. Elvis sat cross-legged and I followed suit as we ate, talked, and watched television.
When I finished eating, I walked over to the curtains and pulled them aside to peek at the view. The lights of Las Vegas were shining brightly. Anticipating the prospect of experiencing the city, I went into the bathroom and changed back into my clothes. When I came out, Elvis was on the telephone and I heard him arranging our return to Memphis.
Had I done something wrong? I thought it would be rude to ask if we were going sightseeing, but to fly all the way here without seeing Las Vegas seemed odd. I tried making sense of it. Maybe he had to get back for work? Or maybe Elvis just did this at times, flying someplace because he relaxed better with a change of scenery?
I may not have understood Elvis in those moments, but I consoled myself with the thought that at least I’d gotten a chance to spend more time with him. I’d flown on his plane and received beautiful gifts, and all the while Elvis had remained a gentleman. Reflecting on this, my disappointment about not seeing Las Vegas began to evaporate.
We reconnected with his cousins in our room, and what had started as a Saturday night “date” for me lasted until our return to Memphis in the early hours of Monday, November 22. We drove back from the airport to Graceland, where Elvis asked me to stay for a while. I followed him up to his bedroom, where he sat on the bed, turned on the television, and began flipping through channels with a remote control.
He stopped when a newscaster reminded us it was the anniversary of John F. Kennedy’s death. Elvis talked briefly about Kennedy’s assassination, thinking many were involved rather than there being a single shooter, and then he moved on to talk about self-defense.
At one point during this conversation, Elvis leaned over the side of his bed and sat back up with a gun in his hand. It startled me; I hadn’t noticed it on the floor before. My father owned a revolver and rifle at home, but I wasn’t used to seeing a gun up close and out in the open like this. Elvis said it was a Colt .45 and proudly showed me its turquoise handle with the initial E on one side and P on the other.
“It’s for protection,” he explained, and told me about a threatening letter he had received once while getting ready to perform in Las Vegas. “My daddy came to me one night with tears in his eyes, asking me not to go on,” he said. “I told my daddy, as a performer, the show
must
go on, so they tightened the security and I took the risk. Luckily, the letter turned out to be a fluke.”
Speaking of yet another incident during a Vegas show, Elvis told me about three thugs approaching him onstage and how he’d defended himself using karate. He laid the gun back on the floor and I could only imagine how many other frightening experiences he’d had to deal with in the past. I appreciated him sharing these stories, and was newly aware of the fear he obviously lived with on a daily basis. I understood how that fear could bring him to a point where he felt in need of constant protection.
The buttons atop a phone on his bedside table lit up then and Elvis answered, listening with a concerned look. When he hung up,
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