Elvis and Ginger: Elvis Presley's Fiancée and Last Love Finally Tells Her Story by Ginger Alden

photos of a woman I had seen in some movie magazines. I remembered now that her name was Linda Thompson.
    At that point in my life, I knew very little about Elvis’s personal relationships, other than these facts: that he’d been married to and divorced from a woman named Priscilla; had one daughter, Lisa, from that marriage; and had dated various girls, Linda among them. Now I wondered why Linda’s photos were still in Elvis’s room.
    I didn’t have time to wonder long. Elvis stepped out of his bathroom, now dressed in a coat, and said, “You know, last night while I was practicing karate, George came up to me and said, ‘Terry is very nice and Rosemary is very nice, but Ginger . . .’” He paused, shaking his head. “Then Ricky came in later, saying, ‘Man, I think you’re gonna like Ginger.’”
    Elvis’s voice was tinged with sarcasm as he went on. “I told Ricky that I’d had a lot of girls brought up to Graceland in the past few weeks, and yeah, I’m sure I’m gonna find someone I really like in Memphis on a Friday night.” He then added that his cousin Billy’s wife, Jo, had told him, “There’s someone down here you are going to like.”
    I was flattered by the attention, but slightly uncomfortable. I realized that my initial instinct about my sisters and me being scrutinized the night before had been right on target.
    It was after midnight by the time we went downstairs. A few people were waiting in the foyer, including two bodyguards and GeeGee and his wife, Patsy. We walked out onto the front porch, and I suppressed a gasp when I saw a car like none other I’d ever seen before.
    It was Elvis’s Stutz Blackhawk, glistening in the soft glow from the overhead light. The car was black with chrome trim, exhaust side pipes, and wire wheels. It was so beautiful that I found myself wondering whether this was why Elvis hadn’t wanted me to ride in his Ferrari first.
    Elvis opened the passenger door for me, pointing out that the trim on the dash and throughout the car was plated in eighteen-karat gold. Patsy and GeeGee climbed into the backseat and I slid into the red leather passenger bucket seat. Elvis got behind the wheel, started up the engine, and we proceeded down the driveway with his bodyguards following in a car close behind.
    The streets were quiet as we rode toward the airport. It was about fifteen minutes away, and as we neared it, Patsy suddenly suggested we take a tour over Memphis in Elvis’s plane.
    “Let’s fly over Nashville,” Elvis quickly countered.
    I didn’t say a thing. Taking a short flight in his private plane would be an extraordinary experience for me, not only because it was with Elvis, but because I had only flown commercial one other time at the age of thirteen.
    At Memphis Aero, Elvis’s Lockheed JetStar stood alone on the tarmac. Its interior lights were aglow, the door was open, and the steps were down, awaiting our arrival. I followed Elvis into the plane, where he introduced me to a pilot with the fitting name of Milo High and his copilot, George.
    As Patsy and GeeGee took a seat on a lime-colored couch, I followed Elvis down the plane’s small aisle past yellow chairs facing each other, with small tables between them. Patterned fabric lined the walls near each window.
    I chose a lime-colored chair in the back and Elvis’s bodyguards sat nearby. I expected Elvis to sit down near me, but instead he turned around, walked to the front of the plane, and began speaking with Milo.
    After a few moments, he looked back at me and said, “I forgot something.”
    Elvis headed out the door with his bodyguards in close pursuit; I suspected he had gone back to Graceland. Patsy and GeeGee remained seated and I stayed in my chair, the three of us making small talk. By the way they were acting, like this was any other ordinary night, I got the feeling that this sort of impulsive outing with Elvis wasn’t unusual for them.
    When Elvis and his bodyguards returned, he