Baby, Let's Play House Part 9

It was all s...o...b..lling now. The Colonel, putting pressure on Harry Kalcheim at the William Morris Agency in New York, got him booked on The Milton Berle Show The Milton Berle Show for April, and after a Hollywood screen test at Paramount Studios in late March, producer Hal Wallis signed him to a contract for one motion picture with an option for six more, the money starting at $15,000 for the first film, up to $100,000 for the seventh. for April, and after a Hollywood screen test at Paramount Studios in late March, producer Hal Wallis signed him to a contract for one motion picture with an option for six more, the money starting at $15,000 for the first film, up to $100,000 for the seventh.

Elvis's acting experience, however, consisted almost entirely of the Christmas pageants in the a.s.sembly of G.o.d church in Tupelo as a child. He was understandably nervous, then, for his tryout, especially as he was given the material-two dramatic scenes from The Rainmaker, The Rainmaker, which Wallis was about to begin filming with Burt Lancaster and Katharine Hepburn-only the night before. For a musical number, he lip-synched his new single, a cover of Carl Perkins's "Blue Suede Shoes," while strumming a prop guitar. which Wallis was about to begin filming with Burt Lancaster and Katharine Hepburn-only the night before. For a musical number, he lip-synched his new single, a cover of Carl Perkins's "Blue Suede Shoes," while strumming a prop guitar.

The results of the screen test surprised nearly everyone. Steve Sholes, head of RCA's country and R & B divisions, and Chick Crumpacker of the label's promotion staff, viewed the test in New York along with other Victor people, and Crumpacker recalls they could barely believe what they saw. Elvis suggested he had the power to legitimately follow Marlon Brando or his hero, James Dean.

"We went back to the office, and it was the talk of the place, like, 'My G.o.d, this guy has all of that natural quality that these other actors have become famous for, because he has that same directness and ability to be himself on the screen.' It looked like he wasn't acting at all. We were stunned."

Screenwriter Allan Weiss, who would later write five Presley pictures, also saw it. In his view, Elvis seemed amateurish in the dramatic scenes, looking like "the lead in a high school play." But once the music was added, "the transformation was incredible . . . electricity bounced off the walls of the sound stage. [It was] like an earthquake in progress, only without the implicit threat."

Elvis was too in demand to have to give up the majority of his Sat.u.r.day nights for the Hayride now, so the Colonel sent Horace Logan a cashier's check for $10,000 to buy out his contract, with the promise to appear on a special Hayride charity show in December. Logan was getting a bargain, the Colonel told him. By then, Elvis would be so big they'd have to hold that show someplace other than KWKH-the girls would tear the place down.

The swirl of it all "appears to be a dream to me," Elvis told reporters in Lexington, Kentucky. He was sounding more optimistic now, in part because he had a new ally. Joe Hazen, Hal Wallis's business partner, was excited about Elvis's potential as an actor. He sent a memo to Wallis saying Elvis's "meteoric rise is unquestionably a freak situation, but that still does not detract from the fact that as a straight actor the guy has great potentialities." Elvis, who hoped he wouldn't have to sing in his movies, was beside himself with joy. The former movie theater usher told Wallis, "My ambition has always been to become a motion picture actor-a good one, sir."

In March Elvis, buoyed by a future in films and the Colonel's promise of turning a million dollars' worth of talent into a million dollars, paid $40,000 for a single-story, ranch-style house for himself and his parents at 1034 Audubon Drive, located in a fashionable, upscale neighborhood of doctors and lawyers east of downtown Memphis near Memphis State University. A typical American dream home with pastel green board-and-batten siding, slate gray tiled roof, red brick trim, and black shutters framing white windows, it was the first house the Presleys had owned since leaving Tupelo. Elvis was proud that he could provide it, and he particularly liked the double carport: he and Vernon were constantly jockeying automobiles in the driveway.

The home had three bedrooms, and Elvis used one for his huge collection of stuffed animals, many of them gifts from fans. For his primary bedroom, Gladys chose a remarkably girlish motif, decorating twin beds with pink taffeta dust ruffles and white quilted bedspreads with pink-and-blue flowers. From there, she hung pale yellow wallpaper flecked with blue and orange-white ceramic figures, caught in midleap on black oval plaques, dotted the walls-and installed a dark pink telephone that matched a selection of his pink stuffed animals. In truth, his room looked like something his fans would have wanted themselves, but Elvis seemed not to mind.

That spring, he began seeing Barbara Hearn, a friend of Dixie Locke he had known casually for several years. A dark-haired beauty who bore more than a pa.s.sing resemblance to Elizabeth Taylor, Barbara exuded sophistication and intelligence. Soon, she would be first runner-up in the Miss Memphis contest, the other contestants voting her "Miss Personality" for her charm and wit.

But Barbara also had a quiet, serious side. Like Elvis, she was an only child and found herself in the same role reversal that Elvis had with his mother, in that sometimes she was the parent. Her mother and father divorced when she was still quite young, and she lived with her grandparents until she was twelve. "My mom was sort of a party animal, and I worried about her a lot, because I would mostly get in before she did."

She had seen Elvis perform once at the Odd Fellows Hall. A friend had called and asked if she wanted to go see the new hillbilly singer. Barbara asked his name. "Elvis," her friend replied. Barbara said, "What's an Elvis?"

The next time she saw him, he was dating Dixie, with whom she went to school at South Side High. At Christmas 1954 they'd both gotten jobs at Goldsmith's department store, Dixie a.s.signed to the bas.e.m.e.nt and Barbara to the main floor bakery, which proved to be a bit beyond her.

"The first person who came up wanted a loaf of French bread, and she said she wanted it sliced. So I put the French loaf in the slicer, and I was supposed to pull the lever and then then put the bread in and push the b.u.t.ton. But I didn't, and I pulled the handle, and it shot that loaf of French bread all the way across Goldsmith's main floor. Quickly, I found myself in the bas.e.m.e.nt with Dixie, in the 'seconds,' in men's underwear and socks." put the bread in and push the b.u.t.ton. But I didn't, and I pulled the handle, and it shot that loaf of French bread all the way across Goldsmith's main floor. Quickly, I found myself in the bas.e.m.e.nt with Dixie, in the 'seconds,' in men's underwear and socks."

Barbara and Dixie rode the bus to work, but one day Dixie said her boyfriend was coming to pick her up. She'd see if he would give Barbara a ride, too, since she didn't live far out of the way. When the big Lincoln pulled up ("It was so huge we could have gotten everybody who worked in the bas.e.m.e.nt in there"), Barbara was surprised to see it was Elvis.

From then on, Elvis gave Barbara a ride home many times, and often she would go with Dixie to visit his parents on Alabama Street. Elvis was already appearing on the Louisiana Hayride and doing road shows, so Barbara got to know his family before she really knew him. She liked them all, including Elvis's grandmother. ("She was a great old lady.") Barbara even liked Vernon, who was more standoffish than Gladys, "certainly not outward and friendly like she was." But once when Barbara and Dixie were visiting, Vernon overrode his own frugality and went out and bought a bag of hamburgers for everyone. As far as Barbara was concerned, the Presleys may have had very little, but they were a nice, hospitable family, and she felt comfortable in their modest home.

At the time, Barbara was dating Ronald Smith, the musician who had suggested that Elvis try out for the ill-fated job with Eddie Bond's band. But when she next saw Elvis, in early 1956, much had happened-he and Dixie had broken up, and she and Ronald, too. She was now working as an advertising copywriter for a local jewelry store, Perel & Lowenstein, and since she was so photogenic, her boss sometimes asked the nineteen-year-old to do the store's live TV commercials ("standing up and showing off their stuff"), broadcast during the weather and the news.

She was at WMC-TV one night, on the job, when Elvis dropped by the station to visit his friend George Klein, who worked in radio out of the same building.

"Elvis came to the window of the TV studio and poked his head in and watched what was going on. When I came out, the first thing he said was, 'How's Dixie?' I said, 'Well, I don't know. I haven't seen her since we got out of school.' "

Barbara was moved that Elvis still cared enough about Dixie to ask. But Elvis interpreted her comment to mean that Barbara no longer had any special allegiance to Dixie, and that she was free to date whomever she pleased. She had a girlfriend waiting with her at the studio that night, and Elvis suggested the four of them go to the Variety Club. When they got there, they were surprised to find themselves the only people in the place. They had a c.o.ke and sat and talked, and Barbara could tell he was interested in her.

"He said he was going on a tour, and he would call me from there. I said, 'Okay,' and gave him my telephone number. And sure enough, he did." Barbara would become Elvis's first publicly acknowledged girlfriend as he hit the national spotlight, and they would be much photographed together.

Unlike most of the girls Elvis dated, Barbara wasn't mesmerized by his stage movements. She liked the way he kissed, and certainly theirs was a boy-meets-girl attraction, even though "I wasn't carried away by his looks or anything." She didn't think he was strange, as so many did, because she was attracted to unusual people. But she found him surprisingly insecure-that's what all the hair primping and clothes were about, she thought, not vanity. But she also thought he was "very personable," and fun and funny, and he made her laugh. She never knew just what he was going to do.

"Often, Elvis would drive up alongside the bus that I was riding home. He would get the attention of the bus driver and have him stop so I could hop off and continue my journey home with him, sometimes on his motorcycle. Of course, all the other pa.s.sengers were thrilled to see him."

Their dates included many of the typical activities Elvis had shared with Dixie-going to the Fairgrounds, taking in a movie, riding around and stopping for burgers and c.o.kes, and driving over to Poplar Tunes and looking through records. They talked by the hour about music, listening to the radio and discussing the songs and the singers. They would often sit at the organ, and Elvis would play their favorite song, Kathryn Grayson and Howard Keel's "Make Believe," and try to get Barbara to sing with him, teasing her because she couldn't carry a tune.

When Elvis was away, Gladys would often call Barbara and ask her to come out to the house and visit with her, and Gladys sometimes sat at that same organ. "She couldn't actually play, but she would touch the keys, and it seemed to produce the most mournful sounds. A lot of people say she was funny and witty, but I never saw that side. She was interesting and amusing at times, but after Colonel Parker and the fame came into play, I think she was more sad than anything, wishing she could awaken and find life as it was before, knowing it would never be, and just not wanting to accept the definite change."

Things seemed to be closing in around Gladys. The Audubon Drive neighbors wanted a word with her about everything-they didn't like it that she hung out her wash ("This is not that kind of neighborhood"), and they hated the fans who trampled through the gra.s.s and clogged the traffic on their quiet street. It all just made her nervous, like the trees she'd had cut down around the property in Tupelo. She started taking diet pills to help with her weight, and like so many in her family, she began to drink heavily, eating onions to disguise her breath.

Her older sister Lillian had spoken to her about it, though Barbara never knew her to be the slightest bit intoxicated. "She was always neat, clean, and meticulously dressed, even in a duster housecoat, and never appeared in hairpins or curlers. She carried herself as a woman who still felt she was the attractive girl she once was."

However, deep down, Gladys was gripped with fear that someone would hurt Elvis. She was gracious to the girls who came to the front door, and handed out face tissues so they could wipe the dust off of Elvis's cars and keep it. But she was obsessed that they would accidentally tear him apart in their love for him, or, after the Texas incident with the roughneck, that their jealous boyfriends would kill him. Young men, angry that their girls had made fools of themselves in charging the stage, were already saying rude things like they wanted a piece of his a.s.s, or they wanted to knock the s.h.i.t out of this pretty boy, change his face. It made Gladys tremble all over. When Elvis and Barbara went to the movies, "I would telephone her a couple of times during the evening to let her know that we were all right, and that there was n.o.body threatening around."

Gladys worried so much that she kept herself in a perpetual state of gloom, and her health began to fail. She was often run-down, and her feet swelled from kidney trouble. Her eyes, dark shiners now, took on a frightened look. Overall, she was proud, anxious, and lost. Elvis thought maybe she needed a pet and got her a tiny lapdog named Sweetpea, after the adopted son of Popeye, the cartoon sailor, but Gladys didn't really like animals all that much, and little seemed to cheer her.

"She was serious and concerned," says Barbara. "She had to be. Goodness knows she was the captain of that little ship, with all the responsibility that entailed."

Vernon, as usual, was virtually no help. He was still nearly a nonpartic.i.p.ant in the household, and besides, he was preoccupied with the idea of Elvis buying him a used car lot ("Presley's Used Cars"). He thought he could make a go of it, and it would get him out of the house.

For the time being, he helped Barbara answer Elvis's fan mail, which arrived in big, bulging canvas sacks, even though much of it had been funneled to Kay Wheeler, the fan club president in Texas, or Colonel Parker's office in Madison. "I wrote most of Elvis's fan letters," Barbara remembers, "and Mr. Presley and I signed his name."

As Dixie had before her, Barbara was becoming like one of the family now, and Gladys sometimes visited her mother, Pearl, a strong, determined, charming woman, at her home on Marjorie Street. For the longest time, Vernon parked on the street, and Gladys huffed and puffed up the long steps to the big Victorian house. Finally, one day Barbara's aunt came out and said, "Mrs. Presley, why don't you just drive up to the back door? There are no steps back there."

Just as Elvis had a way of making every girl feel as if she were the one, Barbara saw that Gladys did the same. "I know she liked me and enjoyed my company. We would go for the proverbial Sunday afternoon drive when Elvis wasn't home, and we sat and talked together a lot. But I think she made all of the girls feel special. I understand why so many say that Mrs. Presley wanted Elvis to marry them. She wanted him to get married, and she wanted lots of grandchildren."

And so Barbara wasn't surprised when Elvis gave her a ring, even though she had mixed emotions about it. They were at Jim's Steak House in Memphis, having dinner with some other people, when suddenly, "He just reached in his pocket and put this little ring box in front of me. My first thought was 'Oh, no! He's going to ruin everything!' Because I truly thought for a second that it was an engagement ring, and getting married at nineteen was way down on my list. When I saw that it was a black onyx with a couple of diamonds around it, I was so happy. I did not want to get married. I wanted him to care for me, and I cared for him a great deal, but I would have been happy to have gone on as we were practically forever."

In retrospect, she and Elvis weren't a great match, because they both came from "a family of worriers-I could give lessons, really, in worrying." While Gladys perseverated about one thing, Vernon stewed about another, usually money. "We were having a meal at their house, and Mr. Presley was going through the bills. He picked one up and looked at it, and he said, 'A hundred and twenty-six dollars!' And then he named a jewelry store. He said, 'What in the world is this for, son?' And Elvis said, 'Oh, Daddy, don't spoil everything for me!' It was my ring, a hundred and twenty-six dollars."

Barbara saw the humor in such a situation, but she was far more troubled by Elvis's jealous streak. One night, they went up to talk to Dewey Phillips, and they came out of the radio studio to find a large crowd had gathered for Elvis. He stopped to talk to people, and Barbara stepped back out of the way. In a moment or two, a young man came up and started making conversation with her.

"Elvis broke away from that crowd, came over, got me by the arm, and marched me like a naughty child down to his car. I thought, 'What in the world is happening here?' I said, 'What's the matter? Are you angry with me?' And he said, 'I don't want you standing around talking to men on the sidewalk.' He went on and on and on, and I was just flabbergasted."

The irony, of course, was that Elvis felt free to do whatever he wanted with other women. "My husband tells everybody that Elvis and I dated steadily for a year. And I say, 'No, I dated him him steadily for a year. He didn't date anybody steadily for more than fifteen minutes.' " steadily for a year. He didn't date anybody steadily for more than fifteen minutes.' "

Their relationship was thoroughly chaste. "Lots of hugging, kissing, and closeness-perhaps activity a lot of girls would have killed to partic.i.p.ate in-but nothing s.e.xually explicit. Reputation was a big deal around my house."

Barbara never asked him about it, but she suspected that he divided women into "good girls" and "road girls," the latter of whom were fair game and didn't mean anything to him beyond the moment. "He was very, very respectful to women. If you could see how he treated me, my mother, his own mom, his grandmother. We were people he cared about. The ones who went backstage were in a different category. They were fans."

On April 15, 1956, Elvis, billed as "the Nation's Only Atomic-Powered Singer," played the Munic.i.p.al Auditorium in San Antonio, Texas. There to meet him was Kay Wheeler, the virginal, seventeen-year-old president of the first national Elvis Presley fan club. Kay was in something of a teenage daze. A year earlier, she hadn't even been able to find a picture of Elvis. But by early 1956, working from her Dallas home and aided by her two sisters, she had built the club into more than 20,000 members, each of whom received a large autographed photo of Elvis, a "Presley pink" membership card, and a four-page monthly newsletter, "The Presley Press." Though the Colonel's office had encouraged her efforts, Kay was as atomic-powered as the object of her affections, and only Colonel Parker matched her devotion and energy in promoting Elvis into a major heartthrob. Campaigning radio stations to play his records, and instructing the flock to do the same, she hardly had any time for homework, let alone her boyfriend, Pat. played the Munic.i.p.al Auditorium in San Antonio, Texas. There to meet him was Kay Wheeler, the virginal, seventeen-year-old president of the first national Elvis Presley fan club. Kay was in something of a teenage daze. A year earlier, she hadn't even been able to find a picture of Elvis. But by early 1956, working from her Dallas home and aided by her two sisters, she had built the club into more than 20,000 members, each of whom received a large autographed photo of Elvis, a "Presley pink" membership card, and a four-page monthly newsletter, "The Presley Press." Though the Colonel's office had encouraged her efforts, Kay was as atomic-powered as the object of her affections, and only Colonel Parker matched her devotion and energy in promoting Elvis into a major heartthrob. Campaigning radio stations to play his records, and instructing the flock to do the same, she hardly had any time for homework, let alone her boyfriend, Pat.

At the beginning of the month, Kay had received a letter from Parker's secretary, Carolyn Asmus, telling her that Elvis would be on tour in Texas, and inviting her to attend the kickoff show in San Antonio. Shortly thereafter, she received a telegram from the Colonel himself, authorizing her to go backstage. When the big day came, she chose a clinging, pale beige sheath dress, dangly pearl earrings, and a pair of spike heels. Then she boarded the Greyhound bus for a 270-mile ride that would mark her first trip away from home. "h.e.l.l and high water wouldn't have stopped me. I looked out that Greyhound window thinking, 'Oh, my G.o.d, I'm going to see Elvis.' "

When she arrived at the auditorium, an old, dirty structure that seemed too unglamorous for what was about to unfold, she flashed her telegram to a guard, who waved her through. Backstage, Tom Diskin, the Colonel's second in command, pointed to an unmarked door and nonchalantly said, "Elvis is in his dressing room. Just go on in."

Kay took a deep breath, straightened her dress, and turned the tarnished doork.n.o.b. She hoped he would like her. She thought he might, because even she could see she looked a little bit like his mother.

He was sitting in front of a mirror, smoothing down his dark blond ducktail, and turned to look over his shoulder at her.

Her knees went wobbly. "Hi, Elvis," she managed. "I'm Kay Wheeler, the president of your fan club."

"My fan club president?" he asked. He seemed surprised. Kay thought he knew she was coming, but there wasn't time to think about that now, because he had on a blue satin shirt that matched his eyes, and his voice was soft and sensuous, and he had a mischievous grin on his face, and he was looking straight at her. "If any man ever stepped out of a dream," she thought, "it was Elvis Presley."

He stood up and walked toward her, staring, she thought, as if he were trying to read her mind. The room began swirling, but she could see he was still smiling, and she thought he was about to say something. Instead, he reached over and put his hands on her shoulders, and then began following her curves. He slid his hands up over her hips, then moved his fingers to her waist, and nearly up to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Finally, he spoke: "Is all this really you?"

"He pretty much groped me," she says, remembering. "I didn't know what to think. My heart was beating a thousand miles an hour. I was overwhelmed. He came on like G.o.dzilla."

She stepped back until his hands dropped away, and then they were both embarra.s.sed. "Well," he said, and then seemed at a loss for words. "Gee," she murmured. But she loved this "Memphis Flash."

"I was on the same page with him. We were both young and riding the rock-and-roll wave."

Just about then, the door opened, and in came a gaggle of reporters to ask him questions. Kay stood back and watched, thinking what a chameleon Elvis was, "slipping casually out of one skin and into another, depending on the nature of the question asked or who was doing the asking." Then one reporter asked Elvis if he planned to marry.

"Why buy a cow when you can milk it through the fence?" he said, a comment that would be picked up by the national press and spark outrage, even as it was toned down to, "Why buy a cow when you can get milk under the fence?" But he was so charming, breaking into a boyish laugh, that he won over whoever happened to be around. Kay had to admit that his appeal, while intoxicating, was complex. He was so pretty, so androgynous, and he seemed both angelic and thuggish at the same time. Later, she read what a fan told one of the reporters that night-that she liked him "because he looks so mean." She knew what the girl meant. He was just so many emotions wrapped up in one big gorgeous cover.

Suddenly, Elvis saw Kay standing in the corner and motioned for her to come over. Then before she knew what was happening, he grabbed her, turned her around, and pulled her toward him until her back was pressed up against him. He folded her into his arms and held her in a suggestive embrace, kissing the side of her face as photographers snapped away.

Kay didn't know anything about a girlfriend named Barbara Hearn waiting for him in Memphis. Nor did she know one of the pictures would wind up on the cover of a national magazine. She just couldn't believe what was happening. Now, she says, "He should have been under freaking arrest. He's feeling me up in that one picture. Those are some of the most blatantly, sensual poses that I've ever seen him in with a girl."

He kissed her pa.s.sionately just before he went onstage, pushing against her in a way no boy had ever done before. Then he launched into the first of two shows before six thousand deafening fans, following, among other performers, Wanda Jackson, to whom Elvis had only recently given his man's diamond ring. Afterward, before the second show, he asked Kay if she would come to his performance in Fort Worth later that week. She said she would and asked him to sign some photos for the fans. Then he introduced her to Scotty, Bill, and D. J. and motioned for her to stand beside the backstage curtain so she could get an intimate view of the show.

In her brief exchange with Scotty, the guitarist had asked if she planned her own career in show business. Kay laughed and said that she was no singer, but she could dance. And then, caught up in the moment, she announced that she'd be moving to their music in just a few minutes.

Elvis had no idea that she was an accomplished dancer, and that listening to Hank Ballard and "s.e.xy Ways," she'd improvised on the current dance steps, melding together the white from rock and the black from bop for a routine uniquely her own. She was so good at it, in fact, that within two years, she would earn a starring role in a Hollywood B picture, Rock, Baby, Rock It, Rock, Baby, Rock It, doing the dance she called the "Rock & Bop." doing the dance she called the "Rock & Bop."

Now, during Elvis's performance of "Money, Honey," Kay began dancing her bop in the wings. She was lost in her own moment for a while, but then in the instrumental break, she noticed Elvis, Scotty, Bill, and even D. J. watching her. When Elvis came offstage, he had just one question for her: "Where did you learn how to do that?"

Afterward, he kept her close, and while waiting for the crowd to thin ("He couldn't get out of the auditorium for the throng of fans outside"), he asked for the house organ in the auditorium to be turned on. Then he took off his coat, lit a small cigar, and in a poignant moment, began playing "Harbor Lights," singing just to Kay. Like most teenagers in the thrill of early love, she was transported, feeling a connection to him that seemed to come from some unearthly place. "It was almost like we knew each other from somewhere else, you know?"

Perhaps there was destiny involved after all. Before Kay left that night, sleeping at her friend Teena's house, Elvis asked her more about her "Rock & Bop."

"He asked me to show him the steps, and then Scotty picked up his guitar, and we did a little number together there, the three of us, backstage. Up to that point, all he was doing was the Hillbilly Cat stuff-just shaking both of his legs and vibrating, not really doing any footwork. I taught him a few of the bop steps that the black people were doing back then and told him to go crazy with it."

Later, she was surprised to see that he had worked it into his stage act. "I don't know if he saw the bop somewhere else, but I do know that he incorporated some of the heel-toe moves after that, because I went back and looked at what he was doing before and after that time."

Teaching him that, being able to give something back to the man who had given her so much enjoyment, was "a nice thing, a nice moment," she says. "We were like crazy kids, just having a ball." It was one of the best days of her life.

And, in retrospect, one of Elvis's. The boy who couldn't dance in high school had just picked up a signature stage move, one that would help define his early style. Somehow, the fact that he learned it from a teenage girl seemed fitting.

Near the end of April, Elvis opened a two-week run in the Venus Room at the New Frontier Hotel in Las Vegas. The Colonel had booked Eddy Arnold into Vegas on numerous occasions and considered it his playground. He counted many friends there, some of whom were heavy in the underworld. His connections, coupled with his growing love of gambling, made Vegas seem like a perfect showcase for his new client, especially as he commanded $7,500 a week for Elvis, in advance, and in cash. "They got an atom-bomb testing place out there in the desert," he explained. "What if some feller pressed the wrong b.u.t.ton?" Frontier Hotel in Las Vegas. The Colonel had booked Eddy Arnold into Vegas on numerous occasions and considered it his playground. He counted many friends there, some of whom were heavy in the underworld. His connections, coupled with his growing love of gambling, made Vegas seem like a perfect showcase for his new client, especially as he commanded $7,500 a week for Elvis, in advance, and in cash. "They got an atom-bomb testing place out there in the desert," he explained. "What if some feller pressed the wrong b.u.t.ton?"

But Parker miscalculated. Elvis was still too immature and unpolished for Vegas. (He introduced his first number one hit as "Heartburn Motel.") And the New Frontier audience was not made up of hormonal teenagers, but an older, jaded crowd, most of whom had come to see bandleader Freddy Martin, whose forte was pop arrangements of the cla.s.sics. Elvis was scared stiff. Everything about the engagement was wrong-it was his first sit-down gig, and no matter what clothes he wore, even loafers and dress pants and a western-cut jacket, he seemed out of place.

T. W. Richardson, the New Frontier's vice president and part owner, had heard about the singer in Richardson's hometown of Biloxi, and called the Colonel about the booking only a month before. The first night, Richardson invited a clutch of friends to gamble and take in the show, and among the guests was a Houston doctor, Tom Van Zant. According to Gabe Tucker, one of Parker's cronies, when Elvis took the stage, Dr. Van Zant "jumped up from their ringside table and shouted, 'G.o.dd.a.m.n it, s.h.i.t! What is all this yelling and screaming? I can't take this. Let's go to the tables and gamble.' "

It was a rough debut, attended by only a smattering of applause, and Elvis was devastated. "After that first night," he said in 1959, "I went outside and just walked around in the dark. It was awful . . . I wasn't getting across to the audience."

The Colonel quickly suggested that the hotel add a special matinee on Sat.u.r.day for teenagers, where, for a dollar, they would see the performance and be served one soft drink. That afternoon, at a reserved table touching the stage, was Nancy Hebenstreit. The thirteen-year-old was in Las Vegas with her parents, Bruce and Ann, who were attending a golf event, the Tournament of Champions. During that time, Nancy would go to seven or eight of Elvis's shows. "He would sing directly to me," she recalled. "He was very appreciative of having a bona fide fan."

She had prayed he would be there. Just eleven days earlier, on April 12, when he played the Armory with Faron Young and Wanda Jackson in her hometown of Albuquerque, New Mexico, Nancy waited outside the stage door after his second show with her friend Carla Singer, a cla.s.smate at St. Vincent Academy, a Catholic girls' school. The two stood there with a swarm of other girls about their age, and when Elvis came out to give autographs, Nancy prided herself on being the first one he kissed. The next day, the Albuquerque Tribune Albuquerque Tribune ran a front-page story about Elvis smooching St. Vincent girls, and Carla, who also got a kiss, was immediately expelled for bringing bad publicity to the school. ran a front-page story about Elvis smooching St. Vincent girls, and Carla, who also got a kiss, was immediately expelled for bringing bad publicity to the school.

It was a life-changing moment for both of them. In time, Nancy began imitating the singer, becoming perhaps the first female Elvis impersonator. ("If anyone did it earlier, they would have to prove it to me.") She combed her hair into a modified ducktail, thickened her eyebrows and lips, added sideburns, and built up her shoulders, turning one of her father's jackets into Memphis cat clothes. Then, curling her lip, she strummed a cardboard guitar and lip-synched the words to "Heartbreak Hotel."

Known today as Nancy Kozikowski, an internationally acclaimed artist whose paintings, tapestry designs, and weavings can be found in museums, public buildings, and private collections, she was captivated as a child by the idea of what it would feel like to be be Elvis onstage. The next year she got kicked out of St. Vincent for "edging on subversive," and at the talent show at her new school, Washington Junior High, the kids got so caught up in her performance that they forgot she was a girl. She was amazed at how electric the connection felt. Elvis onstage. The next year she got kicked out of St. Vincent for "edging on subversive," and at the talent show at her new school, Washington Junior High, the kids got so caught up in her performance that they forgot she was a girl. She was amazed at how electric the connection felt.

"Because I had seen him perform so closely, it was like I was was him. The girls screamed. It sort of surprised me." Moreover, she was stunned at the power that even an imitation of Elvis could have over young kids. "It was scary. It didn't occur to me that an imitation would even begin to do anything more than simply amuse people. But they went wild." him. The girls screamed. It sort of surprised me." Moreover, she was stunned at the power that even an imitation of Elvis could have over young kids. "It was scary. It didn't occur to me that an imitation would even begin to do anything more than simply amuse people. But they went wild."

However, Nancy had returned from Las Vegas with more than just the inspiration for her act. While checking into the Desert Inn, she saw a friend from Albuquerque, and since her pal had a Brownie camera, Nancy suggested they go looking for Elvis. The New Frontier was right across the street, and they saw him immediately, leaving with Bill Black and Gene Smith. He posed for pictures with them, and Nancy reminded him of that earlier kiss, which earned her another. Elvis was happy to see such a youthful face: "Vegas was where people went to get away from their kids."

She ran into him on several occasions ("He was always nice and flirty"), and one morning, at the Last Frontier Village penny arcade, he was all by himself, killing time. They hung out together, just having fun, popping quarters in the arcade booths. In one, they made a sound recording, a talking record ("Hi . . . ummm," "Hi. Aren't you going to say my name or anything?" "Ummm, Okay. Hi, Elvis. What are you doing here?"), and then they stuffed themselves into the twenty-five-cent photo booth, taking pictures together and alone.

Nancy's enraged boyfriend ("the original Fonz, long hair, leather jacket") would later burn all but one, but the image that remained was a beauty-a black-and-white portrait of a hollow-jawed Elvis, a creature of the Vegas night who looks as spooky as Dracula himself.

By the time she left Las Vegas, Nancy had received a bouquet of Elvis kisses, more than a dozen in all. "Very nice and sweet. He was not a letch." Besides, "I was only thirteen and thought he was too old for me."

Elvis was in the lobby of the New Frontier one afternoon when he spotted Judy Spreckels, a comely young woman sitting at a small desk, engrossed in writing a letter. He approached her, struck up a conversation ("How could you not know who he was even then?"), and after a smattering of small talk, Elvis took her to the gift shop to show her a magazine. "He said, 'This says I'm a hillbilly. I'm not, am I?' " Judy looked at him and said, "No, you're a singer." After that, "I was with him . . . all the time. There wasn't a crowd then, just a few guys." Spreckels, a comely young woman sitting at a small desk, engrossed in writing a letter. He approached her, struck up a conversation ("How could you not know who he was even then?"), and after a smattering of small talk, Elvis took her to the gift shop to show her a magazine. "He said, 'This says I'm a hillbilly. I'm not, am I?' " Judy looked at him and said, "No, you're a singer." After that, "I was with him . . . all the time. There wasn't a crowd then, just a few guys."

She became the first "sister" he'd had since Betty Amos, and their friendship lasted until the day he died. "Girls come and go, but sisters stay forever. . . . He told me secrets that I never told and will never tell."

At twenty-three, Judy was the divorced sixth wife of sugar magnate Adolph Spreckels II. She had a ranch in Las Vegas but was living at the hotel then, and she offered to be Elvis's "secretary" and aide-de-camp. Soon, she would also come to Memphis. But both of them knew she was too worldly for him, and so they tamped down the obvious s.e.xual spark.

"We were like kids," she says. In the afternoons, they'd ride the b.u.mper cars at an amus.e.m.e.nt park and then go anywhere to escape the fans.

"He loved the fact that I had a light blue Cadillac, and he bought the same car for his mother in pink. One day we drove my car out into the desert, and his cousin Gene came with us. Elvis drove that car as fast as it could go, and I was in the front seat whooping and screaming and laughing. His cousin was on the floor in the back, he was so scared. But I'd been a stunt player in the movies, and Elvis couldn't go fast enough to scare me."

Now Elvis was learning to love Las Vegas, especially as he could take in a plethora of other shows. He particularly liked Freddie Bell and the Bellboys, whose novelty performance of Big Mama Thornton's rhythm-and-blues. .h.i.t, "Hound Dog," resonated with him down deep. He also loved meeting other entertainers, including those with whom he had something in common-singer Johnnie Ray, who was so emotive that he seemed to cry all the time, and piano legend Liberace, Gladys's favorite, who also had a twin who died at birth, and whose flamboyance with clothes and rings had long intrigued him. Soon Elvis would start reading a paperback book, The Loves of Liberace, The Loves of Liberace, picturing the closeted h.o.m.os.e.xual and a woman on the cover. picturing the closeted h.o.m.os.e.xual and a woman on the cover.

However, Elvis was more interested in the showgirls.

One night backstage, he met a bosomy blonde named Gloria Pall, who'd come with her friends, actor Rory Calhoun and his wife, Lita Baron, to see comedian Shecky Greene, who was also on the bill with Elvis and Freddy Martin. She was visiting with Greene and another showgirl she'd worked with previously, her friends teasing her because her 1954 Los Angeles television show, which she'd developed around the character of "Voluptua," had been canceled after seven weeks, viewers citing it as too torrid. Elvis overheard the conversation and looked her up and down in her slinky black halter dress.

He introduced himself ("Hi, ma'am, my name is Elvis"), and then with the same on-the-prowl look he once gave Betty Amos, he proceeded to take Gloria's right hand to his mouth and suck each of her fingers, rotating his tongue around them one by one.

Gloria, who called herself a "love G.o.ddess," had been around, but she was surprised a twenty-one-year-old kid like Elvis would try such a thing.

"Where did you learn to shake hands like that?" she asked him. "You don't provide towels by any chance, do you?"

"I'm from Tennessee, ma'am," he said. "That's how we do things there. No, I don't provide towels because other girls don't try to wipe it off."

"You're something else," she told him, though his brashness turned her off. "You're a corny, h.o.r.n.y little hick."

Gloria went back to the Calhouns at the table and told them what had happened. "I tell you," she said. "He's original. I've never had that done to me before. He must have read it in a book somewhere." Finger sucking was a s.e.xually stimulating turn-on, she said, "but not with that kid."

At least one more pretty girl in Vegas was also immune to his charms. During his engagement, the Colonel took him over to visit his friend Milton Prell, the owner of the Sahara Hotel, known as "the Jewel of the Desert," with its plaster camels standing guard at the entrance. Elvis immediately set his sights on eighteen-year-old Joan Adams, who had just won the t.i.tle of Miss Nevada USA 1957. But more significantly, she was Miss Sahara, and her duties included traveling with the governor to woo convention business.

Elvis made his way over to her, flirted, asked her name, and said he wanted to take her out. But unlike millions of women who swooned at the very sight of him, Joan didn't find him attractive and politely demurred. Elvis, his ego wounded, complained to Colonel Parker.

"He went back like a sick little puppy and told everybody at the hotel that I turned him down. He said, 'Your Miss Sahara and Miss Nevada USA won't go out with me.' " An hour later, Colonel Parker showed up with Milton Prell, along with Stan Erwin, the entertainment director, and Herb McDonald, the publicity director.

But as Miss Sahara, Joan was off-limits. "They weren't allowed to ask me to go out with anyone-not even sit with somebody. But Colonel Parker said, 'Why wouldn't you?' And I said, 'He's a nice man, but he's just not my type.' "

The Colonel offered an insincere smile and narrowed his eyes.

"Elvis is a gentleman. You don't have to worry about him."

"I'm not worried about that," Joan replied. "And I'm very capable of taking care of myself."