[Elvis] relished the role of recreating me. It was another outlet for his powerful artistic instincts. He’d take me shopping and tell me what colors were right for me. (Red and blue, turquoise and green.) He’d like me to wear tight-fitting gold lamé gowns that revealed every curve. In the Sixties, with hairdos piled high to the sky, Elvis wanted mine piled highest. He wanted my skirts shorter, my eyeliner darker, my makeup thicker, my hair dyed the same jet-black as his. The fact that he was paying this much attention to me was flattering. I was his doll whom he loved to dress. If, on my own, I found something I liked that he didn’t, he wouldn’t be happy. And although I might argue and complain, ultimately if he wasn’t happy I wasn’t happy.