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Elvis and Me: The True Story of the Love Between Priscilla Presley and the King of Rock N' Roll Mass Market Paperback – August 1, 1986
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THE INSPIRATION FOR THE MAJOR MOTION PICTURE PRISCILLA, DIRECTED BY SOFIA COPPOLA
Decades after his death, millions of fans continue to worship Elvis the legend. But very few knew him as Elvis the man. Here in her own words, Priscilla Presley tells the story of their love, revealing the details of their first meeting, their marriage, their affairs, their divorce, and the unbreakable bond that has remained long after his tragic death.
A tribute to both the man and the legend, Elvis and Me gives Elvis fans the world over an unprecedented look at the true life of the King of Rock 'N' Roll and the woman who loved him.
- Print length320 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherBerkley
- Publication dateAugust 1, 1986
- Dimensions4.13 x 0.9 x 6.88 inches
- ISBN-100425091031
- ISBN-13978-0425091036
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Editorial Reviews
Review
“A sad, sweet book...the story it tells is fascinating.”—Washington Post
“This honest, full-lenth portrait paints him as he really was both in and out of the spotlight...his wife, who knew him better than anyone else, sees him clearly, steadily, and sees him whole.”—John Barkham Reviews
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
It was August 16, 1977, overcast and dreary, not a typical Southern California day. When I walked outside, there was a stillness, an unnatural calm in the air that I have not experienced since. I almost went back into the house, unable to shake my uneasiness. I had a meeting that morning and by noon I was racing to meet my sister, Michelle. On my way into Hollywood I noticed the atmosphere had not changed. It still seemed unusually silent and depressing and it had begun to drizzle. As I drove down Melrose Avenue, I saw Michelle standing on the corner, a look of concern on her face. "Cilla, I just got a call from Dad," she said as I pulled up. "Joe's been trying to reach you. It's something about Elvis in the hospital." Joe Esposito was Elvis's road manager and right-hand man. I froze. If he was trying to reach me, something must be terribly wrong. I told Michelle to take her car and quickly follow me home.
I made a U-turn in the middle of the street and raced back to the house like a madwoman. Every conceivable possibility went through my mind. Elvis had been in and out of the hospital all year; there were times when he wasn't even sick that he'd check in for a rest, to get away from pressures, or just out of boredom. It had never been anything too serious.
I thought about our daughter, Lisa, who was visiting Elvis at Graceland and was supposed to come home that very day. Oh, God, I prayed. Please let everything be all right. Don't let anything happen, please, dear God.
I ran every red light and nearly hit a dozen cars. At last, I reached home, and as I swerved down the driveway, I could hear the phone ringing from inside the house. Please don't hang up, I prayed, jumping out of the car and running toward the door. "I'm coming," I yelled. I tried to get my key in the lock, but my hand wouldn't stop shaking.
Finally I got into the house, grabbed the receiver, and yelled, "Hello, hello?"
All I could hear was the hum of a long-distance line, then a stricken, faint voice. "Cilla. It's Joe."
"What's happened, Joe?"
"It's Elvis."
"Oh, my God. Don't tell me."
"Cilla, he's dead."
"Joe, don't tell me that. Please!"
"We've lost him."
"No. NO!" I begged him to take back his words. Instead, he was silent. "We've lost him-" His voice broke and we both began to cry. "Joe, where's Lisa?" I asked.
"She's okay. She's with Grandma."
"Thank God. Joe, send a plane for me, please. And hurry. I want to come home."
As I hung up, Michelle and Mother, who had just arrived, embraced me and we cried in one another's arms. Within minutes the phone rang again. For a moment I hoped for a miracle; they were calling me back to tell me that Elvis was still alive, that it was all right, that it had all been a bad dream.
But there were no miracles. "Mommy, Mommy," Lisa was saying. "Something's happened to Daddy."
"I know, Baby," I whispered. "I'll be there soon. I'm waiting for the plane now."
"Everybody's crying, Mommy."
I felt helpless. What could I say to her? I couldn't even find words to comfort myself. I feared what she would be hearing. She didn't yet know that he had died. All I kept saying over and over was, "I'll be there as soon as I can. Try to stay in Grandma's room, away from everyone." In the background I could hear a grief-stricken Vernon moaning in agony. "My son's gone. Dear God, I've lost my son."
Fortunately a child's innocence provides its own protection. Death was not yet a reality to her. She said she'd go out and play with Laura, her friend.
I hung up and walked around in a daze, still numb with shock. The news hit the media instantly. My phones did not stop ringing, with friends trying to cope with the shock, members of the family grasping for explanations, and the press demanding statements. I locked myself in the bedroom and left instructions that I would not speak to anyone, that I wanted to be alone.
In fact, I wanted to die. Love is very deceiving. Though we were divorced, Elvis was still an essential part of my life. Over the last years we'd become good friends, admitting the mistakes we'd made in the past and just beginning to laugh at our shortcomings. I could not face the reality that I would never see him alive again. He had always been there for me. I depended on him, just as he depended on me. We had a bond: We'd become closer and had more understanding and patience for each other than in our married life. We had even talked of one day . . . And now he was gone.
I remembered our last phone conversation, just a few days before. His mood had been good as he talked about the twelve-day tour he was about to begin. He even laughed when he told me that, as usual, the Colonel had papered the first city they were scheduled to hit with his posters and that his records were being played constantly in advance of his arrival.
"Good old Colonel," Elvis had said. "We've come a long way. He's still puttin' out that same old stuff. It's a wonder people are still buying it."
I loved hearing Elvis laugh, something he had been doing less and less. Just days before that last call, I'd heard that his spirits were down and he was contemplating breaking up with Ginger Alden, his girlfriend. I knew him well enough to realize that this was not an easy move for him to make. If only I'd known that would be the last time I'd talk to him, I'd have said so much more: things I wanted to say and never had, things I'd held inside me for so many years because the timing was always wrong.
He had been a part of my life for eighteen years. When we met, I had just turned fourteen. The first six months I spent with him were filled with tenderness and affection. Blinded by love, I saw none of his faults or weaknesses. He was to become the passion of my life.
He taught me everything: how to dress, how to walk, how to apply makeup and wear my hair, how to behave, how to return love-his way. Over the years he became my father, husband, and very nearly God. Now he was gone and I felt more alone and afraid than ever in my life.
The hours went by slowly before Elvis's private plane, the Lisa Marie, arrived. Behind closed doors I sat and waited, remembering our life together-the joy, the pain, the sadness, and the triumphs-from the very first time I heard his name.
Two
It was 1956. I was living with my family at the Bergstrom Air Force Base in Austin, Texas, where my father, then Captain Joseph Paul Beaulieu, a career officer, was stationed. He came home late for dinner one evening and handed me a record album.
"I don't know what this Elvis guy is all about," he said, "but he must be something special. I stood in line with half the Air Force at the PX to get this for you; everybody wants it."
I put the record on the hi-fi and heard the rocking music of "Blue Suede Shoes." The album was titled Elvis Presley. It was his first.
Like almost every other kid in America, I liked Elvis but not as fanatically as many of my girlfriends at Del Valley Junior High. They all had Elvis T-shirts and Elvis hats and Elvis bobby sox and even lipstick in colors with names like Hound Dog Orange and Heartbreak Pink. Elvis was everywhere, on bubble gum cards and Bermuda shorts, on diaries and wallets and pictures that glowed in the dark. The boys at school began trying to look like him, with their slicked-back pompadours and long sideburns and turned-up collars.
One girl was so crazy about him that she was running his local fan club. She said I could join for twenty-five cents, the price of a book she'd ordered for me by mail. When I received it, I was shocked to see a picture of Elvis signing the bare chests of a couple of girls, at that time an unheard-of act.
Then I saw him on television on Jimmy and Tommy Dorsey's Stage Show. He was sexy and handsome, with his deep brooding eyes, pouty lips, and crooked smile. He strutted out to the microphone, spread his legs, leaned back, and strummed his guitar. Then he began singing with such confidence, moving his body with unbridled sexuality. Despite myself, I was attracted.
Some members of his adult audience were less enthusiastic. Soon his performances were labeled obscene. My mother stated emphatically that he was "a bad influence for teenage girls. He arouses things in them that shouldn't be aroused. If there's ever a mothers' march against Elvis Presley, I'll be the first in line."
But I'd heard that despite all of his stage antics and lustful, tough-guy looks, Elvis came from a strict Southern Christian background. He was a country boy who didn't smoke or drink, who loved and honored his parents, and who addressed all adults as "sir" or "ma'am."
I was an Air Force child, a shy, pretty little girl, unhappily accustomed to moving from base to base every two or three years. By the time I was eleven, I had lived in six different cities, and fearful of not being accepted, I either kept to myself or waited for someone to befriend me. I found it especially difficult entering a new school in the middle of the year, when cliques had already been established and newcomers were considered outsiders.
Small and petite, with long brown hair, blue eyes, and an upturned nose, I was always stared at by the other students. At first girls would see me as a rival, afraid I'd take their boyfriends away. I seemed to feel more comfortable with boys-and they were usually friendlier.
People always said I was the prettiest girl in school, but I never felt that way. I was skinny, practically scrawny, and even if I was as cute as people said, I wanted to have more than just good looks. Only with my family did I really feel totally protected and loved. Close and supportive, they provided my stability.
A photographer's model before her marriage, my mother was totally devoted to her family. As the oldest, it was my responsibility to help her with the kids. After me, there were Don, four years my junior, and Michelle, my only sister, who was five years younger than Don. Jeff and the twins, Tim and Tom, hadn't yet been born.
My mother was too shy to talk about the facts of life, so my sex education came in school, when I was in the sixth grade. Some kids were passing around a book that looked like the Bible from the outside, but when you opened it, there were pictures of men making love to women, and women making love to one another.
My body was changing and stirring with new feelings. I'd gotten looks from boys at school, and once a picture of me in a tight turtleneck sweater was stolen from the school bulletin board. Yet I was still a child, embarrassed about my own sexuality. I fantasized endlessly about French-kissing, but when my friends who hung around our house played spin the bottle, it would take me half an hour to let a boy kiss my pursed lips.
My strong, handsome father was the center of our world. He was a hard worker who had earned his degree in Business Administration at the University of Texas. At home he ran a tight ship. He was a firm believer in discipline and responsibility, and he and I frequently knocked heads. When I became a cheerleader at thirteen, it was all I could do to convince him to let me go to out-of-town games. Other times no amount of crying, pleading, or appealing to my mother would change his mind. When he laid down the law, that was that.
I managed to get around him occasionally. When he refused to let me wear a tight skirt, I joined the Girl Scouts specifically so I could wear their tight uniform.
My parents were survivors. Although they often had to struggle financially, we children were the last to feel it. When I was a little girl my mother sewed pretty tablecloths to cover the orange crates that we used as end tables. Rather than do without, we made the best of what we had.
Dinner was strictly group participation: Mother cooked, one of us set the table, and the rest cleaned up. Nobody got away with anything, but we were very supportive of one another. I felt fortunate to have a close-knit family.
Going through old albums of family photographs showing my parents when they were young fascinated me. I was curious about the past. World War II intrigued me, especially since my father had fought with the Marines on Okinawa. He looked handsome in his uniform-you could tell he was posing for my mother-but somehow his smile looked out of place, especially when you realized where he was. When I read the note on the back of the picture about how much he missed my mother, my eyes filled with tears.
While rummaging through the family keepsakes I came upon a small wooden box. Inside was a carefully folded American flag, the kind that I knew was given to servicemen's widows. Also inside the box was a picture of my mother with her arm around a strange man and, sitting on her lap, an infant. On the back of the photo was inscribed "Mommy, Daddy, Priscilla." I had discovered a family secret.
Feeling betrayed, I ran to phone my mother, who was at a party nearby. Within minutes I was in her arms, crying as she calmed me and explained that when I was six months old, my real father, Lieutenant James Wagner, a handsome Navy pilot, had been killed in a plane crash while returning home on leave. Two and a half years later, she married Paul Beaulieu, who adopted me and had always loved me as his own.
Mother suggested I keep my discovery from the other children. She felt it would endanger our family closeness, though when it did become known, it had no effect on our feelings for one another. She gave me a gold locket that my father had given her. I cherished that locket and wore it for years and fantasized that my father died a great hero. In times of emotional pain and loneliness he would become my guardian angel.
Product details
- Publisher : Berkley; Reprint edition (August 1, 1986)
- Language : English
- Mass Market Paperback : 320 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0425091031
- ISBN-13 : 978-0425091036
- Item Weight : 2.31 pounds
- Dimensions : 4.13 x 0.9 x 6.88 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #9,540 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #16 in Divorce (Books)
- #28 in Rock Band Biographies
- #128 in Actor & Entertainer Biographies
- Customer Reviews:
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Both Priscilla and Elvis are much more interesting in the book, and her adventure with him is such a fun ride to join as you read. It is amazing to read about her story when she is young, knowing that grew into such a formidable, dynamic woman. She paints Elvis in a much more interesting light. You can see how much she loves him but needs to become a full human being outside of the marriage, while still maintaining a meaningful friendship with him after the divorce. She also gives insight on Elvis’ inner circle and life at Graceland.
It ends on a respectful note towards him, even though it pointed out faults — faults that the movie focused on.
I enthusiastically recommend the book. Such a fun read!
Below I read a long scathing review of veamous hatred and vile contempt for Cilla as Elvis called his child Love age 14, married at her age 21 living together for years without intercourse until their wedding night when she became pregnant with Lisa Marie. Her comments from below are either in love with the image and fame of Elvis, or unaware of what marriage is and has no idea how living such a lonely unrewarding life Cilla endured for so many years that it kills all self esteme and self confidence and a life of self controlled loneliness and physical needs that bring about so much self condemnation for not being enough. not pretty enough not what he wanted and not who he loves and the suspitions of his infidelity and Elvis had a childish me life from being an only and coddled child who could do no wrong and excused without fault if he did. She had a far greater understanding of their love and never grew bitter in this completely controlled life together. At 14 1st love is so all consuming that it's never completely forgotten, as they say one never forget's their 1st love, true real love, and that is fact and It's not an offence to either party it's just the way it is and has nothing to do with further love and commitment nor takes away from that future.
As I read this book there was so much I could relate to and helped me understand better my own experience's in my 80 years. I was the most obedient perfect wife and Mother, ever faithful, ever forgiving ever mindful to stay faithful no matter what and I did. But I suffered badly inside for my much wounded heart that craved so much the attention of my husband so long suffering and so unrewarding and so needed not only the emotional but the physical starvation of my so called marriage. He came home every night, was not a drinker nor a womanizer nor physically abusive, no drugs were involved that was not our era, we pretty much married for life, men pretty much did as they pleased and wives pretty much were faithfu, loyal and long suffering, it was just life to endure. I yearned to be loved and cherished it was something I looked forward to from childhood and all I ever truly wanted. I was attractive with a good personality high IQ and talants so that was never the problem as I had much to offer and much to give and gave freely. To me husband and family was my entire world that I wanted and needed. After birth within a week or 2 my body returned to it's former nice figure, that was never a problem. I think Priscilla had and felt those same qualities and did the very best she could against a lot of odds most of us never encounter. Of course they had fun, he being 10 years older and she being so young, she a disciplined oldest child, Elvis being coddled and excused, a huge difference in forming adulthood and understanding boundaries and the values therein. I was preteen when Elvis gained immense popularity and influence, my parents were playing cards downstairs while us kids were upstairs waiting to go home and bed the 1st time I was aware Elvis existed as one of the girls had torn her straw to write the word Elvis on her dresser. I said what's an Elvis, laughed at for my ignorance and informed "only the biggest and best singer in the world!" I was still watching black and white TV shows starring Rickey Nelson who I thought was pretty cute, but not being an idol worshipper famous people were just a different world. Of course we had a TV, the 2nd family on our street to own one, tiny screen with lots of cartoon mice flying out of chimneys and everywhere in a house. I preferred my sandbox under the huge oak tree that smelled so good and the fresh unpolluted wind that cooled me in the summer under the shade of that huge oak tree, I ran my fingers over the bark feeling it's roughness and the silky feel of the leaves through my fingers that fell around me as seasons began and faded. The youngest and least of 4 kids from a poor family I had little expectations beyond the beauty of the earth, my sandbox and maybe 2 cars to play with at most, maybe it was only one, I was 2 as I was later told when we moved there in Ohio and Dad built me my sandbox, 5 years younger than my next sibling up 12 years from the oldest sister who viewed me as the living doll baby she loved. Dad worked long hours, Mom to so being alone was normal. All 6 of us lived in a small 2 bedroom house initially with no bathroom, furnace or hot water, Dad 1st put in an under the house furnace, a big grate over it where we all took our baths in an oblong copper tub with handles, I was last in line for the now dirty water. Then Dad built a block bathroom with toilet sink and hot water tank, I don't remember a tub or shower and I was 9 when we moved so there must not have been one. I say all this so you understand how I was raised.
I met my 1st love on my 15th birthday when we moved to the country, he was 3 years older, I sang at his graduation and as young girls do I fell in love with him from a distance, he did not know I existed, but several kids came to my birthday party a few weeks after we moved to our new home on an acre my grandpa built for us. It was a short lived party in the below house garage cause my Dad turned my little turn table with built in speaker so low we couldn't hear it so everyone left except him who sat with me on the wood bench while I cried in so much humiliation and hurt feelings, he stayed for hours just holding me. It was many months later before he finally asked me out and we quickly became THE outstanding couple then got engaged but my parents wouldn't let us marry, perhaps because they married at our ages at the time and talked him into joining the Navy for 4 years no less, to get rid of him I figured later, he joined and left within a week which pretty much effected our end. We wrote and I lived for his leave's but he got to being home many days before calling me then the last leave as a couple I saw him less than 15 minutes out of a weeks leave time, a last minute thought I guess, I was so hurt and many things crossed my mind, I still wore my ring and he as usual wrote 3 letters a day of love and future but I wondered how could we have a future if he spent his leave with who ever instead of even calling me for days or last time minutes before going back to the Navy? I cried my heart out over that last year and half before I broke it off in a letter. It didn't mean the love died, I don't think it ever did for either of us but too many questions in my hurting mind heart existed. My parents moved to Lauderdale where I was immediately swarmed with suiters, I had been in Ohio but everyone knew I was faithful to one and only one. I said all this to say I had understanding to how Cilla felt those years between the romance in Germany, months and years between phone calls and letters. I waited at the window every day for the mail truck to run, even our mailman asked me out when the letters stopped. Being the last to leave home and my lonely life of rejection from birth I chose a suiter and married him, he died shortly after our daughter was born, I got with child 3 weeks 5 days after marriage. I moved back home when she was 4 mo's old, my parents followed within months, I had rented a tiny 2 car garage turned into a doll house in a great area and for some crazy reason they moved in on me before I could spend one night in my little 1 bedroom home! Why me? They evicted their renters got their house back and begged me to move with them back home using my daughter as bait, she would be home with Mom not shuffled from baby sitter to my house after work, I finally agreed but my death benefits were autmatically put in their account and my paychecks seemed to always go to Mom as she had shopped for my daughter to the penny so I came home to their room having her new clothes every week on the bed and handing over my paycheck. Gas and lunch came out of meager tips working the counter in a drug store and my wardrobe was threadbare. I was making the house payment and the utilities and my mothers spending habits while I was pennyless and my baby had more clothes and toys than the store did, but somehow those clothes went back to the store for refunds. I married again and am still married to that man. It only took him from age 77 to just under 80 to realize how he always treated me so poorly and became the good husband, so I missed out on most of my life hungaring for love and normalcy and the dreams we all have, to be loved as we love, to be close and happy, not rich, just close and happy. Because of my life I understand why Cilla finally left to build her own life, she was about 30 years old with her daughter to still raise, not poor by any means, divorce terms were not disclosed but Elvis was always known as a generous man and no doubt took care of his child love and his child financially as he should have. Cilla went on to save Graceland from ruin out of love for Elvis and his family, she remained very good friends and always loved the husband who had rules what a woman should be. He did shape her and raise her to be , denial, the perfect stay at home wife, keep the home fires burning and never question any affairs with other women. He had a life he wanted and enjoyed to the fullest, and I have no doubt of his insecurities either, many of us do but most won't admit to, he never wanted for the warmth of a woman nor the loneliness nor did he consider this as husband and Father. Much less women would have found solace long long before Priscilla Presley did, and only after she came into her own self awareness and some hard realization of where she stood in her marriage. She never sought after fame and fortune she just deeply loved and still loves a man who had it all. He was not a kid when he met her, he was 24 to her 14. She was a quiet unassuming young attractive girl who never truly experienced life. He hated the Army life of discipline and lack of freedom, she lived it in a military family. He knew her innocense and obedience in life compared to his life of protection and having his way. He probably did love her through it all but it never stopped him from doing exactly what he was used to, being given freedom to do whatever he felt like and with fame and riches the lifestyle that came with it. and he could never allow her to get or think beyond her existence. As he told her in so many ways, never cross me, you'll never win, remember the pillow fight her with a black eye to teach her with a hard placed pillow to her face, him telling her to get out, throwing her clothes and suitcase on the floor her tears, no doubt begging and not understanding what she had done wrong, then to be told she needed to be taught a lesson so she obediently forgave and rushed back into his arms thankful to be given the chance, perfect for him, not perfect for her. To critisize and call her names after reading this book is a horrible injustice. All women envied her from fan's to leading ladies, she had this sought after charming indulgent man. She waited from 14 to 21 to have him make love to her to become pregnant on her wedding night to as soon as pregnancy was known to his standards never make love to a mother, one time after that, time frame unknown to "this is how a real man males love to his woman" which was not sweet by any means just prior to her decision to seek divorce So other than wedding to pregnant discovery to one time to almost rape is not considered a fulfilling marriage of consummation. So by about age 30 years and a life of self denial and realization of the truth of her marriage love aside she made a choice, she had an affair, we don't know how long but not very and she told him she was leaving and why, and did so. Anyone who can condemn her for wanting a life that was more fulfilling than painful loneliness by age 30 has no idea nor wants to understand. Throughout she never condemned him, disobeyed him nor told others, she simply bore it alone and still loves him, remembers the good times and speaks of him in loving and accepted terms. I'm very glad she weaned herself off the prescription drugs she saw that did much more harm to Elvis than help. I too am an insomniac and hate the endless long lonely nights, I understand dreading insomnia. I'm also disabled 21 years with prescriptions I take only as needed rather than as timed. I've lived much physical and emotional pain in my life but intelligent enough to know drugs and booze would never be the answer but likely the undoing of a person. I laude Priscilla for her faithfullness, her deep abiding love, her insights and finally her determination to escape a relationship that was far more painfrul than rewarding, it must have been a gut wrenching decision. She could have stayed and done as she pleased but it wasn't her way nor would he ever allow self indulgenence. But to be honest with herself and the love of her life and he was and always will be the love of her life. She's quite a couragous women who came out unscathed from a life that was not for her. Perhaps he came to realize how much she loved him and obeyed from age 14 his every wish whim and need. I doubt he ever fully comprehended how terribly hurt she was. At age 21 to marry her dream I doubt she thought their love making would basically be nil. The most painful part of marriage is to be neglected and alone in the basics of marriage, the sharing between a man and his wife the glow of love mI more than most do understandaking to the suffering the lack thereof. I lived basically a sexless life not being promiscuous, my 1st husband going into the hospital the morning after I became pregnant, his stay a month long and coming home in a wheelchair that pretty much ended that part of marriage, then remarry 2 years later just turning 20 years old left me pretty much unfulfilled with my sexuality left completely unfulfilled makes me understand much more than most ever experience nor could endure. Love does not conquer all unless it's shared in all the aspects of marriage and marriage is a 2 way street for both to fulfill as meant to be. People are not meant to live their lives unhappy and neglect their God given needs. Priscilla never did remarry because she was a very loyal person who only loved one man her entire life, I hope for her sake she found something in life to sustaine a reasonable semblance to true happiness within.
He wanted her to become the perfect doll, his own image in a woman, a walking talking female version of himself that he could be proud of and would one day marry. She lost her own identity and absorbed his.
She left her family behind at 16 and became his family with all the shine and dullness of a life of celebrity yet left behind in the shadows of his fame. She was his secret lover waiting for her Prince to return for years and years of heartache and pain.
When she finally grew into her own person they divorced and Elvis never recovered . This Tragedy and his drug addiction cost them all dearly. Lisa Marie was the one who suffered the most in the end.
Top reviews from other countries
Reviewed in Brazil on May 16, 2024
Reviewed in Mexico on February 22, 2024
I thoroughly enjoyed this book and found it to be better than the movie as there was a lot more story and information in it.
There was some really fascinating stories but some also very sad! I couldn't imagine how difficult it was for Priscilla Presley being married to one of the biggest of not THE biggest rock and roll star on the planet. It must have been incredibly frustrating and emotionally tiring dealing with all the fame and media attention. Being married to someone in the public eye wouldn't have been an easy feat for her or their daughter Lisa Marie either. It seems to me from what I've read they coped with it all admirably and enormously well!
If your an Elvis fan and interested in his family life or interested in his wife Priscilla then I'd highly recommend this book if you haven't read it yet.