Elvis and Me

by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley

Over the years he became my father, husband, and very nearly God.

“I want you to take these; they’ll help you stay awake during the day. Just take one when you feel a little drowsy, no more than one, though, or you’ll be doing handstands down the hallway.”

I was living in a state of suspended animation, waiting for Elvis’s infrequent calls.

He came alive at night. There was a big difference between the daytime Elvis and the nocturnal Elvis.

He despised entering a quiet room, and soon I too adopted the habit of automatically turning on the TV whenever I walked into a room.

He put his arms around me, holding me as he slept. I studied his eyebrows, his long black eyelashes, his perfect nose, and his beautiful, full mouth. After a while I ached from lying in the same position but I didn’t move; it might wake him.

learned to scout out the exits whenever Elvis and I entered a crowded room.

“Dodger,” he called out. “Look who’s here. It’s little Cilla. She’s come a long way, Dodger, to be with little us.”

His mother had raised him on this sweet talk and Elvis spoke it with those he cherished. Feet, for instance, were “sooties”; milk, “butch”; teeth, “toophies”; love, “yuv”; little, “yittle.”

It was Christmas Eve. Elvis had prayed for a white Christmas and—as if on cue—that night three full inches of snow

“Goddamn, she was a big woman,” Elvis was saying about his costar. “Body like a man—no hips, and shoulders broader than mine. I was embarrassed to take my goddamn shirt off next to her.”

He wanted it long and jet black, dyed to match his because, as he said, “You have blue eyes, Cilla, like mine. Black hair will make your eyes stand out more.” He made a lot of sense to me and soon my hair was dyed jet black, like his.

while my classmates were deciding which colleges to apply to, I was deciding which gun to wear with what sequined dress.

You keep your little ass there and keep the home fires burning.” “The flame’s burning on low. Someone had better come home and start the fire.” Elvis laughed. “You’re beginning to sound like me,” he bragged.

There’s an old Southern belief that holds that a woman goes into a marriage thinking she can change her man, while a man wants his woman to stay the same as when he married her.

“How you doing, Cilla? That’s my girl. How’s she doing back there?” I’d call back, “She’s doing pretty good. I’m okay.”

“She’s ready! Cilia’s going to have the baby!” Ignoring his frenzy, I disappeared calmly into the bathroom and applied my ever-so-black mascara and teased my ever-so-black hair. Later at the hospital I requested special permission to keep on my double set of lashes.

The hotel lobby was dominated by Elvis paraphernalia—pictures, posters, T-shirts, stuffed animals, balloons, records, souvenir programs.

It was also the first time that I felt we were functioning as a team. I made several trips to New York, trying to find unique accessories for him to wear onstage. I bought scarves, jewelry, and a black leather belt with chain links all around it that Bill Belew would later copy for the famous Elvis jumpsuit belts.

He felt that the assassins gloated over their “accomplishments,” and told his bodyguards that if any attempt were made on his life, they should get the killer—even before the police. He didn’t want anyone bragging to the media that they’d killed Elvis Presley.

Each week, upon my arrival, I’d paste photos on the mirrors in his bedroom to remind him that he had a wife and child.

the impossibility of replacing the crowd’s adoration became a real-life nightmare.

I was creating a life of my own, starting to achieve a sense of security in myself, and discovering there was a whole world outside our marriage.

Elvis didn’t even know his own phone number; nor did he carry cash.

It was 6:30 a.m. and Elvis was dressed in black, including his black cape, sunglasses, his large gold International belt, and a cane. He approached the gate looking, as Jerry put it, like Dracula.

Elvis was an avid badge collector. He had detective, police, and sheriff badges from all over the nation and the narc badge represented some kind of ultimate power to him.

Busy centering my life around Elvis, even during his absences, I had neglected not only my needs but my daughter’s as well.

“We’re living separate lives.” Finally he asked, “Have I lost you to another man?” “It’s not that you’ve lost me to another man, you’ve lost me to a life of my own. I’m finding myself for the first time.”

We had a running debate on how she was to be raised. “To hell with values,” Elvis would say, joking. I knew that it was essential that Lisa gain some perspective, but try to explain that to Elvis Presley.

I remembered the jokes Elvis used to make about dying. He’d say, “It’d really take something for me to leave this earth.” Yet he wore a chain around his neck that had both a cross and a Star of David on it. He would joke about it, saying he wanted to be covered in all areas, just in case.

“You look so peaceful, Sattnin, so rested. I know you’ll find happiness and all the answers there.” Then I joked, “Just don’t cause any trouble at the Pearly Gates.”