Forever Young, Always Beautiful (E.P)

Chapter 15 - The King Calls To His Subjects... Via Satellite

Sometime in July of ‘72, the Colonel became inspired by a recent visit President Nixon made to China. Wanting to act upon his idea – and make a quick buck in the process - he soon came up with the idea of a worldwide satellite television special, to be broadcast from Hawaii. Although Elvis was excited about this – “It’s like in ’68, only bigger.” He told me - I still felt the need to ask, on his behalf, why it was necessary for everything to be so over the top. Of course, the Colonel had an answer: "Well, since it’s impossible for us to play in every major city, don’t you think it’s a good idea? Then fans all over the States – no, all over the world - will get to see their idol." “So, why don’t you just let Elvis tour worldwide, instead of having him do the same venues that’s he’s done dozens of times now? Even Vegas is getting old now!” I could see the Colonel getting agitated; he’d never liked that I stood up to him when it was necessary, unlike Elvis, who bowed to his ever demand. The Colonel composed himself before speaking to me again: “When the right offer comes in, perhaps we will do just that.” I threw my hands up in frustration. “It isn’t all about the money, Tom! Elvis is an artist; he needs to be given the freedom to create. Doing the same thing, to the same people, year after year, is going to grow old very soon.” “And that’s why we’re doing this satellite special. And please, Annie; call me Colonel.” The Colonel gave me one his smarmy smiles and I withered inside. But I stood my ground – literally. I stood up, trying not to notice the look of a little boy lost on Elvis’ face across the room. “Please, Tom: call me Annabel.”

We were sat in the back of the helicopter - Elvis, Joe, a cameraman, and I – when we heard the screams of hundreds of excited Elvis fans waiting outside the airport below us. “Sounds like an impressive welcoming committee, E.” Joe said, glancing out of the window. “Let’s just hope they’re that excitable at the actual show.” Elvis replied. I noticed he looked nervous, so I placed my hand on his knee. He smiled at me, silently thanking me for my attempt to comfort him. I nodded at him, and removed my hand. I figured that having a huge camera in his face wasn’t helping, so I tapped the cameraman on the shoulder, and he looked over at me. “Would you mind switching your camera off for a little? You can film him when we land.” I asked politely, fluttering my eyelashes as best I could. The young cameraman stammered his response and turned the camera off. “Thanks honey. Now, would you mind awfully just going to the font and sitting with the pilot? Thank you.” I cringed when I realised I’d just used every trick in the book that Elvis used on the girls her perused – except me; never me - but it worked like a charm. Once the cameraman was out of the way, I turned back to Elvis and Joe. “Ah, look: just me and my boys.” They both chuckled, shaking their heads. “I don’t know how she does it, but she does it good.” Elvis said to Joe, who agreed. “She’s gotta be some kind of white witch, ‘cause that shit she pulls works on every man I’ve ever come across that’s met her.” Joe added. “What can I say: I learnt from the best.” I winked at Elvis, who smirked back at me. “Aw, c’mon guys. Not in front of me…” Joe begged. Before Elvis and I could jump on each other just for the fun of making Joe wretch, the helicopter was landing. The cameraman appeared by my side once more and began to film again. Once landed, Elvis gave me one last smile before he and Joe jumped out of the helicopter and was followed by another cameraman. As I watched Joe and Elvis drive away after greeting the fans, I noticed Lamar Fike, one of Elvis’ closet friends and the head of his security team, appear. He smiled at me and offered his hand. “C’mon, Ann. We gotta get you to the hotel; you’re needed on candid duty.” He helped me down from the helicopter and together, we walked over to the Jeep that would take me to the hotel. Jerry Schilling, another of Elvis’ close friends and bodyguards, stood by the Jeep, grinning at me. I’d always been quite close to Jerry; although he was a little younger than Elvis and I, we seemed to have a lot in common and I enjoyed his company. But he knew better than to hit on me; Jerry knew whose girl I was, to use the term loosely. Just as we reached the Jeep a few fans appeared. All 10 of them – young girls between the ages of 16 and 19 – began shouting at us. I waved; it wasn’t unusual for fans to shout to me as well. But then I realised that what they were shouting weren’t the usual, respectful comments I got from the fans that stood outside Graceland: they were shouting insults at me. They called me all manner of names: slut, whore, home wrecker to name a few. I didn’t understand why they were calling me those things; it didn’t even cross my mind that any of the fans knew about my relationship with Elvis behind the closed doors of his bedroom. Instead of getting into the Jeep like Lamar and Jerry were telling me to, I ignored them and walked closer to the jeering fans. “Your mama’s can’t have raised you that well if you’re shouting such hurtful things at a person you don’t know.” I scolded them. They all sneered. “You’re mama can’t have taught you that well if you’ve been sleeping with a married man.” One girl yelled, mocking my accent. “And Elvis Presley of all people!” Another shouted, to which they all laughed. That was probably the point where I should have just turned and left them to think their spiteful thoughts. But I’d grown up around boys; boys who could be quite volatile and prone to temper tantrums. So I strode forward, close enough that I could see the emotion in their eyes, but not so close that they could reach over the barrier. “Where on earth did you hear such a ridiculous, disgusting and hurtful rumour?” I asked them. “So you’re saying the idea of sleeping with Elvis is disgusting? Some friend you are!” A girl yelled. “I wouldn’t say no to him even if he was an old, fat slob!” A younger girl shouted, making all the others giggle in agreement. I was disgusted and angry, and I think my face showed it. I don’t know at what point I realised I was shouting at them, but they were all stunned into silence. After who knows how long – a few seconds or even minutes – Jerry was dragging me away and Lamar was taking down the girls names. He had promised them they could meet Elvis, as compensation for my outburst. I was outraged, but he told me his real intention later: he’d taken their names, so they would be barred from the show at all. “Elvis wouldn’t want any spiteful little girls who pick on his special one like that. Don’t you worry; they won’t bother you again.” Five years later, I received a condolences letter from one of those girls. I’ve never heard from her, or any of her friends, since and I never found out how they knew about Elvis and me.

Elvis ended up taping two rehearsal shows, just as back up material in case there was a problem with the satellite. Out of everything that happened while we were in Hawaii for the satellite special, the thing I remember most is when he first stepped out in his eagle jumpsuit. Up until then, most of his jumpsuits had been fairly plain in comparison. The Eagle jumpsuit was magnificent, and made him look every inch the rock star entertainer he was. After Larry had finished doing his hair before show time on the night of the actual satellite showing, we were left alone in Elvis’ dressing room. “Annie, do me a favour?” He asked, looking at my reflection in his mirror. “What’s that?” I asked him, resting my hands on his broad shoulders.” “Run your fingers through my hair? I’ve been told it’s pretty comforting to a nervous man, and I’m one hell of a nervous man.” I chuckled as he stood up and we walked over to the couch. I sat carefully on his lap and gently ran the tips of my long nails through his hair. “You may be a nervous man, but Larry will be an angry man if I ruin your hair.” Elvis laughed, and I felt some of the tension leave his body. “How do you do it?” He asked, watching me closely. “Do what?” I asked, lightly tracing his sideburns with my finger. “Calm me so. No body but mama could do that, but I suppose that a mother’s prerogative. You ain’t a mama; so how’d you do it?” I smiled sadly. “I don’t have children of my own, and I’ve watched you grow up. I’ve always had to be older than I am, with parents – with a mother – like mine. Your mama did a better job of raising me when my own mother did. I think I just picked more up from her than I did my mother. I know how to be with you, like did.” Elvis smiled before giving my lips a tender kiss. “You’re it, Ann. You’re just it.” He told me, helping me stand up before getting to his feet. I laughed, straightening my dress out. “And what does that mean, E?” I asked him. He became sombre; he walked over to the jacket he’d been wearing when he arrived at the venue. Pulling the wallet he carried everywhere with him out of the pocket – it never had any money in it – he pulled a photograph out of it. Handing it to me, I was shocked to see myself, but much younger. “When did you…?” But I didn’t need an answer; I recognised everything happening in the photo, the memory of that day still so fresh in my mind…

July 1957

I heard a car horn honk loudly outside my parent’s house. I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Elvis in 2 weeks, but I knew instantly that it was him. He’d promised to come see me when he got back to Memphis. Rushing outside, I saw Elvis leaning against a brand new Cadillac, looking proud as punch with himself. “Elvis, you didn’t? You bought another Caddy?” I asked him. “I did, but it’s not for me.” He said, stepping away from the door. I raised my eyebrows, totally shocked. “For... For me? But why?” Elvis laughed. “’Cause you’re my best friend! I can’t very well buy every guy and his mother a car and not buy you one! Gone on, sit inside!” I remember sinking in the plush leather seats, cool on my hot skin. It was an especially hot day in Memphis, and I’d been wear shorts, t-shirts and not much else for days. As I daydreamed out loud about all the trips Elvis and I would take, I didn’t notice him taking photographs with a camera he’d hidden in the back seat. When I did notice, I chased him until I pulled the camera from him. When I found out that the film inside was missing, I demanded he give it to me. But he promised he’d destroy it…

Present Day – 1973

I’d never liked having my photo taken; as I’ve said, I’ve always preferred to be behind the camera. But I couldn’t lie and say that Elvis had no eye for a candid; I didn’t look awful in the photograph. My young face did help quite a bit though. I looked up at him then, to find he had a knowing smile on his lips. You’re it, Annie. You’ve always been it for me. I’ve had other muses, sure. I married one of them. But you: you’ve been my muse since the day we met. I don’t write my own songs, but I sing them like I do; like they are telling my life. And every song I sing, I think of you. I think about if you’ll like it, how you’ll like it, what you like about my singing. And the love songs, Annie: well, they were always for you. You’re it and you always have been and you always will be.” I threw my arms around him, and I couldn’t remember a time where I’d loved him so much it consumed me.