trust elvis


Favourite Distraction (I Hope You Feel The Same)

Greaserlock diner set 5/6
Previous: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4


Greaser Sherlock - kassna
Nerd John (and edit) - itsloki
Photographer - mi-caw-ber

Inspiration - traumachu and her wonderful story as well as the art of archiaart


Your taste of music is atrocious, darling.

All those years we were carrying on in Hollywood, Las Vegas, Palm Springs, and on various movie locations, Priscilla was waiting in Memphis for Elvis’ visits. She had graduated high school in 1963, after living there one year, but Elvis didn’t want her to work, so she filled the empty hours shopping and talking to Minnie Mae. Elvis expected the same devotion in his future wife that he’d received from Gladys, despite the fact that he rarely spent time alone with Priscilla anymore. When they were together, Elvis treated her with tenderness and love, but otherwise she was left to her own devices.

At fourteen, Priscilla had been timid and quiet, but she slowly gained confidence and started to pick up some of Elvis’ cocky ways, even treating him to Memphis Mafia-style barbs. Elvis’ plan of molding himself an ideal, compliant wife–an unrealistic goal at best–was in jeopardy. His little girl was growing up. For her part, Priscilla knew deep down that Elvis had other women but didn’t want to admit it to herself. Yet she hunted for signs of his unfaithfulness. She snooped through his makeup kit, searching for notes from other women. Whenever she approached Elvis with hard evidence, he would go on the offensive. “Don’t you trust me?” Elvis always asked her, initially playing at hurt and indignant. “Don’t pay attention to what you read in the papers,” he warned. “Oh, those are superimposed,” he scoffed whenever she showed him photographs picturing him with other girls. If she pressed the issue, he exploded. Overpowered, she was forced to back down. Nevertheless Priscilla couldn’t stop checking up on him. Sometimes she tried to disguise her voice and called the Hollywood house. “Hey, boys! Any parties tonight?”

Sonny answered the phone one time. “Yeah, big party tonight,” he said. “Elvis is getting a haircut right now. Come over after nine!” That really got her.

One time, years later, when we were in Las Vegas playing the Hilton, Jo Smith, Billy’s wife, and Priscilla drove from Los Angeles to Palm Springs on their own. There, they discovered notes in the mailbox left for us by various girls. One read, “Dear Sonny, I had a great time last weekend,” and was signed “Lizard Tongue.” There were a few others-luckily, none to me. Priscilla immediately called Vegas, and I answered the phone.
“I’ve got to talk to Elvis right now,” she said.
“About what?” I asked. “He’s getting ready to go on stage. Is it really important?”
“I have to talk to him right now!” Priscilla insisted.
Elvis got on the line, and Priscilla told him what she’d found. “I’m in Palm Springs,” she said, “and I’ve got all these notes from women you guys have been out with.”
Elvis took his usual tactic: a strong offensive.
“I’m getting ready to go on stage,” he said in exasperated tones. “There’s two thousand people out there waiting for me! I’m supposed to be out there, smiling and happy. What the hell are you doing calling me at this time? Those notes are all bullshit. Tear them up and throw them away! They don’t mean a thing! It’s just fans trying to cause trouble.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

Another night, Jo and Priscilla drove down to Los Angeles to Palm Springs where we were supposedly resting. They parked on a dark street across from the house and watched the parade of women inside the house as they moved back and forth passed the open windows. Then they drove to a pay phone and Jo called the house, trying to pretend that she was one of our local girlfriends.
“I heard there’s a party tonight,” she said. “Can we come over?” But Billy answered the phone and immediately recognized his wife’s southern-inflected voice.
“Jo! What are you doing calling here?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m just kidding around,” she said nervously.
The girls hung up and drove straight back to Los Angeles. They were so frightened of provoking our anger that they never said a word about it. In fact, it was only recently that Priscilla told me that story.
We kept our women sheltered from the outside world, partly because of how the public behaved whenever they spotted Elvis. They literally elbowed and pushed Priscilla out of the way to get to him. But we also kept them isolated, because that way we had better control. Priscilla once brought a friend home from her dance class. After the friend left, Elvis told Priscilla that the moment she’d left the room, the girl had made a play for him. He could have said that to keep Priscilla from making friends from outside the clan. For my part, I told Joan all about the other guys’ extramarital exploits, and I’m sure Elvis told Priscilla about the rest of us. So Joan thought every husband cheated except hers, and Priscilla thought all the guys were unfaithful but Elvis. Except for Jo and Priscilla, none of the women voiced suspicions to each other because the Memphis Mafia and their women were a clan. Any individual dissenter automatically posed a threat to the integrity of the entire group. The girls barely talked among themselves, because none wanted to be the troublemaker.

Joe Esposito, “Good Rockin’ Tonight”

Trusting people is hard, especially for me. I’ve trusted people who I probably shouldn’t have trusted before and they’ve hurt my heart. I’m a pretty sensitive guy, so I’ll lay it all on the line, and they’ll kind of pull it. So now I’m figuring out there’s certain people I can’t do that with.
—  Justin talking about trust issues with Elvis Duran