Dolores Hart gave me a surprise birthday party, all the kids from Paramount Studio was there. It was a big surprise to me. I was there for about ten minutes and in walks Elvis with the boys. He has this huge stuffed tiger under his arm […] and he named it Danny Boy. He gave me this big box, for weeks I had been asking Elvis for pictures that I could give the kids in my neighborhood. When they had heard I was doing a picture with him, they all pleaded for photos of him. So I would always ask him for pictures for the kids. […] So he hands me this box and I placed it off to the side, he said “Oh no you need to open that now”. So I opened it and it was a movie camera with a light bar and film. He said “Now you can take your pictures”. — Jan Shepard. [x]
A/N: This one came to me when I saw these amazing AI photos on Instagram made by @blackvelvetep and @_chiara975ep. (Be sure to check out their pages on Instagram!) My fic brain went crazy and this storyline was born.
Summary: Set in Regency England, Mr. Presley is the gentleman who owns and resides in Graceland Manor. Annabelle Martin is his newest maid after her parents have died and left her an orphan. Can he resist his affection for her, despite the difference in their social class?
Need to catch up? Masterlist here.
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, we've finally reached some real smut, folks. Kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie
Word count: ~3k
"Oh, Elvis.” She whispers it like a prayer, her hand on her heart as she rocks back and forth in agony.
******
Despite her anguish, Annabelle manages to drag herself up off the floor and down the stairs. She makes it to the kitchen before she completely falls apart again. Mrs. Hall sees her and quickly dries her hands on her apron and moves over to her, pulling her to her ample bosom.
“Oh, love, what happened?”
“Elvis… he… oh!” She erupts into a new fit of sobs and Mrs. Hall strokes the back of her head lovingly.
“What's he done?” Annabelle’s voice is muffled as she speaks into the cook’s chest.
“He kissed me.” Mrs. Hall chuckles and pulls back to hold Annabelle's face in her hands.
“And it made you cry like this?”
“I told you there can be nothing between us! Of course it made me cry like this. There is no way we can be together.” She lets out another wail and hugs Mrs. Hall tighter.
“Oh, sweet girl. You are so young in the ways of the world. Do you think you are the first woman to love a man she shouldn't?” Annabelle stands up.
“What do you mean?”
“This is not uncommon. There are ways to have what you want.”
“How?” Annabelle asks eagerly. The prospect of having Elvis in any way is supremely intriguing.
“Secrecy, love. You live together in this house full of rooms. If you seek happiness with him, it can be found. You have only to use your imagination.” Mrs. Hall winks and Annabelle blushes. “Do you love him?”
“I-I-I I'm not sure I even know what that means.” Annabelle fumbles for words nervously.
“How does it feel when you're with him?” Despite her best effort, Annabelle smiles.
“Like I've never been alive until that exact moment. He warms me like the sun.” Mrs. Hall nods.
“And when you're without him?”
“Like I can't breathe for missing him.” Annabelle turns to Mrs. Hall with her eyes shiny and wet.
“Oh, my dear. That sounds like love to me.” Just as Annabelle opens her mouth to reply, Jimmy comes bounding into the kitchen.
“Mother! Look!” He waves a letter in the air and then sees Annabelle's face. “Oh, I'm so sorry. Have I interrupted?”
“No, no. I'm fine.” She wipes her face quickly and smiles. Jimmy nods slowly and then turns back to Mrs. Hall.
“Mother, I've had a letter from Daniel. He's coming home!” Mrs. Hall grabs the letter and reads it quickly, sighing with joy. Daniel, her older son, has been away with the militia for several years. Now, it looks like he will be coming home.
“We should have a party!” She turns to Jimmy and Annabelle with a wide smile. “I'll speak with Mrs. Davenport.”
She rushes off to talk to the housekeeper, leaving Jimmy and Annabelle alone. Annabelle looks up at him and he tries to smile, but she turns and heads to her room.
******
Mrs. Davenport and the butler, Crenshaw, agree that the staff should have a party to celebrate Daniel’s return. The day after the party will be Saturday, so they decide that no one will work. Daniel arrives that Friday morning and the whole of downstairs is a flurry of activity preparing.
Upstairs, Elvis has no idea what's happening. He goes riding and does all the things he normally does without any inkling of anything being different. However, when he comes in from an evening in the village and hears music, his curiosity is piqued. He wanders through the house searching for the source, but he knows it must be coming from downstairs since he is the only person who lives in the main house and he isn't having a party. At the top of the stairs, he stops and listens to the sounds of merriment. For a moment, he starts down the stairs without thinking, but then he stops. Should he venture back to the rooms of his childhood? He knows it's no longer appropriate, but there's a not-small part of him that longs for the freedom of his youth. Eventually, he decides that it's his house and he can move about it however he so chooses and continues down the stairs.
Annabelle is greatly enjoying the festivities, drinking punch and dancing as often as she's asked. She's not particularly close to the other members of the staff, but she loves Mrs. Hall and the way she glows with joy about the return of her beloved son is contagious. Daniel is perfectly agreeable, handsome with his green eyes and soft brown curls, and very light on his feet. He's captivated with Annabelle and dances with her as often as he can without raising any suspicion.
She's in his arms, laughing and spinning about the room when Elvis reaches the bottom of the staircase. He peeks into the common area and tries to hide his shock. It's been five years since he's seen Daniel, his closest companion from childhood. And now he's here, dancing with the woman he loves. Mrs. Hall sees him watching Daniel and Annabelle and starts to move towards him quickly. Annabelle catches the movement and looks to her destination, seeing Elvis there with his lips parted slightly. But neither of them can get to him before he turns on his heel and disappears up the stairs.
Perhaps it is the punch, but Annabelle doesn't think twice about following him. Mrs. Hall smiles to herself and then turns back to the party, where Daniel stands perplexed. He looks at his mother questioningly and then sighs, realization landing on him. A single sentence leaves his lips before he turns back to the party.
“We always did have the same taste in women.”
******
Annabelle moves through the house looking for Elvis, but she has no luck in any of the rooms he typically inhabits. She's convinced he's gone to bed and resigns herself to going back downstairs when she realizes the front door is cracked. Peering left and right, she walks to it carefully and looks out. There is a steady rain falling and she shivers a little before stepping out into the darkness. It doesn't take her long to see him standing alone in the driveway, soaked to the bone.
“Elvis!” She calls his name and steps into the downpour. He turns and sees her and then turns away again, trying to hide his anguish. “Elvis, what is the matter?”
She comes up behind him and he rounds on her angrily.
“What's the matter? Daniel was my closest companion, more brother than friend! And now?” He scoffs and runs his hand through his wet hair. “Now no one even tells me he has returned. And when I found out he has? I see him dancing with…”
“Me.” Annabelle finishes his sentence. He nods and looks down at the ground. They stand in silent opposition, neither able to look at the other.
“Please forgive me for this impertinence. I should not be guilty of such emotional outbursts.” He walks past her back up to the porch.
“Elvis–” She calls after him and he stops, turning back to her again.
“No Bella! Do not pretend that there is anything more between us than my longing for a union that can never be. You are a maid. I am a gentleman. Marry Daniel and be done with it.” His chest heaves with the hurt and anger, but he's determined not to shed any more tears on her account. Annabelle shakes her head and walks to him on the porch out of the rain, her eyes flashing.
“Do you think you are in love alone?! Do you think that I am not in constant torment over the reality of my station compared to yours? Oh, Elvis. Can you really be so naive?”
He looks up at her suddenly, his eyes searching hers. For a second they just stare at each other, all the unspoken things between them hanging in the air.
“Do not give me hope when there is none.” His voice is quiet and firm, daring her to contradict him.
“I would never.” Her breathing is heavy and her throat is thick with emotion. He steps closer to her and almost touches her face, pulling back at the last second. His heart is full to bursting with the heaviness of pain and hope mixed together in a kaleidoscope of desperation. He can hold back no longer.
“I have loved you from the first moment I saw your face. You are the missing pieces of my soul. All that I am belongs to you and you alone. If there is any amount of love for me in your heart, tell me now or I shall waste away with wondering.”
The last trappings of bondage fall away and she lets her heart be laid open for him.
“I am yours, Elvis. Body and soul, yours.”
In a second, his arms are around her waist and his lips are on hers in a kiss even more passionate than the last. She whimpers as his tongue dips into her mouth and he scoops her into his arms. He carries her into the house and up the stairs easily, kicking his bedroom door open and then closed behind them.
His nimble fingers make quick work of the ties and buttons on her dress as he presses his lips to her neck. She moans softly as he starts unlacing her corset. Eventually, he gets frustrated with how long it's taking and rips the last few eyelets open, pushing it down her legs with her dress. Her chemise is wet from the rain, clinging to her body so that her nipples are visible through the thin fabric.
She undresses him just as hastily, pushing off his jacket as he kicks off his shoes. His clothes drip as they fall to the floor, all but his underpants, his chest glistening with rainwater and the beginnings of sweat. He pushes her backwards to the end of the bed in front of the fire and turns her to face away from him, kissing the back of her neck and running his hands up her front to cup her breasts.
“Oh, my darling. You are a goddess. Let me worship at your altar.” Another little moan falls from her lips and he groans, his hard cock pressing against the fabric of his underpants. The ache between her thighs is almost unbearable, but as his fingertips reach the edge of her chemise, she pulls back a little and turns to face him.
“Elvis… I-I've never…” The realization dawns on him and he nods, trying to steady his breathing.
“We don't have to do anything you don't want.” He pushes a strand of hair out of her face and kisses her forehead, trying to slow himself down.
Her heart races and her hands tremble, but she looks at him standing before her and takes the hem of her chemise in her fingers, pulling it up and over her head.
“Darling, if you don't want me to touch you, you should leave that on.” He can't control the way his eyes linger on the dips and curves of her naked body.
“I never said I don’t want you to touch me.” She coos. He whimpers and bites his bottom lip.
“Bella…” She takes his hand and walks to the side of the bed, settling onto the plush bedclothes.
“Elvis. Touch me.” He looks at her lying there, spread out and waiting for him and his cock twitches.
“Are you sure?” Her hands are still shaking slightly, but she sits up and undoes his underpants, tufts of brown hair becoming more visible with each pull of the laces. He looks down at her and his heart swells as she slides her hands into the back of his pants and pushes them down, his erection bouncing free in front of her. Her eyes widen and her heart pounds, waves of desire washing over her with the sight of him. She's suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to lean forward and put her mouth on him, but she holds back. He steps out of his pants as she lays back on the bed, pulling him down with her.
His lips are slightly parted as she takes his hand and places it on her hip. It's not that he hasn't done this before. But something about this feels particularly important, like the beginning of the rest of his life. His hand trembles a little as he begins to run it up and down her body, squeezing her gently as he goes. He moves it back to her hip and then slowly walks his fingers to the patch of dark hair between her legs.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.” She nods, her nipples hardening at the thought of him touching her in the way she has wanted for so long. When his fingers slip into her folds, she gasps and grabs onto his shoulders. He moans at her wetness. “Oh darling. Your desire… I long to taste it.”
“Taste it?” He nods and kisses her lips as he pushes a finger up inside her. She makes a pleasurable sound and he smiles.
“May I?” She's not exactly sure she knows what he intends to do, but she trusts him wholeheartedly.
“Yes, my love.” He begins to move down her body, dropping hot, open-mouth kisses to her skin as he goes. She whimpers when he slips his finger out and settles between her thighs, pushing them open and admiring her glistening center. He grunts and leans forward, giving her a slow lick up her slit and teasing her clit with the tip of his tongue. She yelps and grabs the pillow under her head, writhing in pleasure. The absolutely delicious sensation of his mouth on her pussy strips her of any last inhibitions. He holds her hips with both hands and eats her with a fervor he's never put forth before.
“Oh, God, Elvis!” She pants and moans and trembles as her climax approaches. He slips first one and then two fingers inside her and pumps them in and out as he licks tight circles on her clit, flicking it with his tongue and sucking it in turns. He looks up at her and meets her eyes, face buried in her sex.
“Let go, darling.” He whispers. It's a small command, but it's all it takes for her to lose control, the waves of pleasure cresting and breaking over her body as her walls pulse around his fingers and her sensitive bud softens under his tongue. Finally, she begins to come back to earth and he pulls back, in love with the way she looks all flushed and coated in a sheen of sweat.
“That was… heaven…” She pants and tries to regain some semblance of control as he chuckles and makes his way back up her body. He gently drags his fingertips up and down her torso, trying desperately to ignore his throbbing member as it drips precum and presses against her thigh. She turns and looks at him with her eyes glazed in bliss. “I need… more…”
He looks at her, not sure what she's asking for. But her center aches with emptiness and she knows what she needs.
“More?” His eyebrows knit together.
“More of you.” Emboldened by her release, she reaches down and wraps her small hand around his cock. He moans as she squeezes gently and instinctively pumps him. “Please.”
“Darling, are you absolutely certain?” He's dying to plunge himself deep inside her, but he doesn't want to push her to anything she's not comfortable doing.
“Please. I need you.” She pulls him over on top of her and rolls her hips up against his, letting the tip of his dick rub against her sensitive clit.
“Oh, God, Bella… it might hurt…”
“Then we’ll go slow. I need you inside me.” He lets out a primal grunt and lines himself up with her entrance.
“Stop me if you need to…” He whimpers as he carefully begins to push forward, entering her at a painstakingly slow pace. She grimaces and bites her lip, trying to ignore the sting. “Darling, should I–?”
“No! Don't stop. Please.” He nods and resumes pushing into her.
“Breathe, darling.” She exhales deeply and tries to relax. And then, just before he bottoms out, something inside her gives way and the pain turns to pleasure.
“Oh!” She yelps as he fills her completely. He pulls back and looks at her, concerned. “No, it's good! Don't stop!”
He smiles and kisses her deeply before slowly pulling out and rolling his hips forward to meet hers again. She moans softly as he begins to roll forward rhythmically, pulling out and filling her over and over again.
“My God, Bella. You are a goddess. You feel… oh, Bella.” He can barely make words, overcome with the intense sensation of her walls tight on his cock. She makes a sound between a groan and a whimper as he begins to increase his speed and the power of his thrusts. He moves cautiously against her, but his gentle pace gives way to something more passionate as his orgasm approaches.
“Yes! Oh, Elvis!” She moans loudly, another peak approaching for her as he slams into the sensitive spot inside her. His hips snap against hers wildly and they moan in unison as their combined climax overwhelms them. He throbs and spills inside her just as she pulses around him, both of them lost in a whirlwind of pleasure. They hold on tight, sweating and trying to catch their breath as they ride out their collective high. Finally, they relax against each other and laugh, kissing whatever inch of skin they can reach. He settles on his back and pulls her onto his chest, pressing his lips to her forehead.
“Stay with me.” He looks down at her and she meets his eyes.
“Only until tomorrow.” A kind of sadness fills her, but he shakes his head.
“No. This is my house. Stay with me forever.” She nods. Maybe it's a dream. But for tonight, that's exactly what they need.
28!! feeling for each other in the dark with 50s E🥹
A/N: Sorry this has taken me so long!
Afraid of the dark
Pairing: 56!Elvis x innocent reader
Word count: 835
TWs: None really. Fluff and a little kiss.
“Honey?” Elvis calls out, stepping forward and bumping into a cupboard.
“Elvis?” Your voice is small and scared. The power had gone off suddenly and now it’s pitch black in the kitchen. This is not the way you’d expected your first date with Elvis to go. He hadn’t even got you a lemonade before all the lights went off.
“H-honey, w-where are ya?”
He stumbles about in the opposite direction to the one he’d just tried and almost falls over.
“Here!”
He tries to listen and figure out which direction here is, but it’s not getting him anywhere so he decides to try a different tack.
“There’s some candles in this drawer somewhere…”
Rummaging about, he holds various items up to his face and then discards them noisily. Eventually he finds what he’s looking for, and then there’s another lot of noise whilst he tries to find matches too.
“Uh, honey. Can you try the drawer closest to you? For the matches.”
“W-what drawer?” You ask, aware your voice is wobbling a little. You swear you’re a woman now you’re eighteen, but something about the dark gets to you like you’re still a little girl.
“Ya must be near one, honey.”
“I’m not!”
There’s more loud banging and crashing and then suddenly something collides with your hip and you just about scream.
“Hey!” His voice is soft as his arms envelope you. “It’s jus’ me. No need to be scared.”
He’s warm and he smells good, and you press your cheek against his shirt as your arms encircle his waist. You feel him kiss the top of your head as you puff out a raggedy breath. You’d barely even held hands before your date, but now you’re clinging to him like a liferaft.
“I-I… I don’t like the dark, much,” you whisper, into his shirt. “I-it’s silly, I know…” you can feel yourself blushing and you thank God that at least the darkness is covering that up.
“It’s not silly,” he tells you, gently, kissing the top of your head again. “I’m not gonna let anything hurt ya, I promise.”
He tilts your chin up with his finger, and you can just about make out his face in the darkness.
“You believe me?”
You nod and he smiles.
“Okay then, let’s try an’ find these matches…”
Keeping one of his arms around you, he fumbles about for the handle of the drawer, eventually finding it and then rummaging through the contents. You stay close, your body pressed up against his as you watch his face scrunch up with concentration. You’ve never been this close to a man before, and part of you thinks it’s not very ladylike. The other part, the part that’s currently winning, loves the way he makes you feel safe and protected in his arms.
“Finally!” He exclaims, as his fingers wrap around the small rectangular box.
It only takes him a few seconds to open it, take out a match and strike it. The flame lights up his face and you’re suddenly confronted by his beauty up close. It almost takes your breath away. He lights the candle and then looks down at you again.
“There. Feel better now?”
You nod, transfixed by his big red lips now that you’re so near him and you can actually see again. “Yessir,” you whisper.
He giggles. “Ain’t no need to call me sir, I’m barely older ‘an you are.”
Your heart is beating faster and faster and you can feel yourself tremble as you keep looking at him. Staring into his eyes, and then down at his mouth. You don’t seem to be able to stop yourself.
“Sorry,” you whisper again. “I feel better now we’ve got the candle.”
Holding it in one hand, he pulls you in closer with the other. “Kinda romantic, don’tcha think?”
A tiny smile plays at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah. A little.”
“Romantic enough for me to kiss ya?”
You think your heart actually skips a beat.
“I-if you want to.”
“Oh honey, I want to. Been dyin’ to since you walked in the door.”
Placing the candle on the countertop, he cups your cheek with one big hand and tilts your face towards him, plush lips pressing against yours. A tiny moan escapes your mouth as his tongue pushes inside experimentally, tangling with your own. Your hands are on his chest, and your fingers claw lightly at his shirt. He smiles into the kiss, before pulling back to look at you.
“You enjoy that?”
You’re breathless and flushed and all you want to do is keep kissing him forever. You nod quickly. “Can we… do it a-again?”
He grins, looking decidedly like the cat that’s got the cream. “We sure can, darlin’. Jus’ as long as you like.” He gently curls a strand of your hair around your ear, his thumb stroking your cheek.
As his mouth brushes against yours again he mumbles, “kinda hope the lights don’t come back on,” and somehow you agree.
***
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Summary: After months of rebuilding her life in Chicago, Valerie is suddenly thrust back into the Elvis vortex when she's summoned for a deposition in his divorce proceedings.
Word count: ~7,800
You can also read this on AO3 here!
Four months. That's how long I'd managed to stay away from anything Elvis-related. Four months of building a new life, of focusing on my students at the community center, of pretending my heart didn't skip every time I heard one of his songs on the radio.
I was just starting to get my life back on track and then the universe decided to go and fuck it all up.
It started innocently enough. I was walking home from work, arms full of sheet music and thinking about what to wear on my date with Richard - a perfectly nice, perfectly normal accountant who'd never worn a big ass TCB ring in his life - when I heard someone behind me.
"Excuse me? Miss Pedretti?"
My heart did that stupid little skip it always did when strangers knew my name. These days, that usually meant one thing. I turned slowly, already preparing my "no comment about Elvis" face. But instead of a reporter, I found myself facing a teenage girl with braces and hope in her eyes.
"Could I... could I maybe get your autograph?"
I stared at her. "My autograph?"
She nodded eagerly, holding out a piece of paper. "I saw you perform at Murphy's last week. You sang 'At Last' and it was just... wow. My friends don't believe I found you walking down the street!"
For a moment, I couldn't speak. Someone wanting my autograph. For my singing. Not because I was "that girl who almost married Elvis" or "the Chicago singer who broke up the Presleys." It was almost comical.
"S-sure," I managed, juggling my sheet music to sign her paper. "What's your name?"
"Jenny. I'm learning to sing too. My teacher says I've got potential, but..." She bit her lip. "Well, you know how it is."
I did know. Standing there on a Chicago street corner in March, I remembered being her age, full of dreams and doubt in equal measure. Before Vegas. Before Elvis. Before everything got complicated.
"Keep at it," I told her, handing back the paper. "And come see me at Murphy's again. I'll save you a seat up front."
She beamed like I'd just handed her the moon. As I watched her practically skip away, I couldn't help smiling. Maybe I was finally becoming my own person again.
That feeling lasted exactly three hours.
I was getting ready for my date, trying to decide if the red dress was too much for a simple dinner, when a small avalanche of memories crashed down from my closet shelf. Literally. A jewelry box I'd shoved up there months ago chose that exact moment to commit suicide, spilling its contents across my bedroom closet like broken promises.
And there it was. The little guitar charm he'd given me one night in Vegas, after I'd told him about wanting to learn how to play. Elvis had disappeared for an hour, sending the Memphis Mafia into a panic, only to return with this tiny silver pendant. "Now you got your own li’l six-string," he'd said, fastening it around my neck. "Even if it's just for show."
I picked it up, the silver warm against my palm like it remembered my skin. Almost four months since I'd walked out of Graceland, and still these little pieces of him kept surfacing. Like shells washing up on a beach long after the tide's gone out.
*
The date with Richard was... nice. That's the thing about nice. It's comfortable, predictable, safe. He took me to a little place off Michigan Avenue, held doors open, laughed at all my jokes. His tie was perfectly straight and his conversation was perfectly pleasant. The kind of man my mother would have loved. The kind of man who'd never break furniture when he was angry or pop pills to keep his demons at bay.
"So then the client says, 'But I thought depreciation was just a feeling!'" Richard chuckled into his wine glass.
I forced a smile, pushing my spaghetti around my plate. The guitar charm felt heavy in my purse, where I'd stuffed it after being unable to just leave it on the floor. Like carrying around a piece of lit dynamite.
"Valerie?" Richard's voice pulled me back. "You okay? You seem a million miles away."
"Sorry." I took a sip of water. "Just thinking about tomorrow's lessons. I've got a student who--"
"Oh God." His eyes had fixed on something over my shoulder. "Is that what I think it is?"
I turned. The restaurant's small TV was showing footage I knew too well - Elvis outside Graceland, making his divorce announcement. They'd been replaying it for months now, but this was different. This was new footage.
"Sources say the divorce proceedings have hit a snag," the announcer's voice carried across the quiet restaurant. "Priscilla Presley's lawyers are alleging that the relationship with Chicago singer Valerie Pedretti began before the separation..."
The marinara sauce suddenly looked too much like blood.
"That's you, isn't it?" Richard was staring at me like he'd never seen me before. "I mean, I knew you'd been in Vegas, but I didn't realize... That's really you they're talking about?"
"I should go." I stood up so fast my napkin floated to the floor like a surrender flag. "I'm not feeling well."
"Wait, let me drive you--"
"No." I was already grabbing my purse, already moving. "Thanks for dinner. It was... nice."
The wind hit me like a slap as I burst out of the restaurant. Even after the worst of winter is gone, the Chicago cold takes no prisoners, but I barely felt it. All I could think about was Elvis' face on that TV screen - tired, drawn, but still beautiful enough to stop traffic. Still able to make my heart do that stupid little dance even through a television screen. God damn him.
I walked home in a daze, my heels clicking against the sidewalk in rhythm with my racing thoughts. Three blocks from my apartment, I realized I was humming "Blue Christmas."
"Fucking hell," I muttered, forcing myself to stop.
My apartment felt emptier than usual when I finally made it home. The silence pressed in like a physical thing, broken only by the distant sound of the El and Mrs. Kowalski's cats fighting next door. I kicked off my heels, poured myself a generous glass of orange juice, flopped down on the couch, and tried very hard not to think about anything at all.
The knock came just as I was pouring a second glass.
"Delivery for Valerie Pedretti?" The courier looked about twelve and thoroughly unimpressed by having to work this late.
I signed for the envelope, my stomach already sinking. Legal papers always feel different than regular mail - heavier, somehow. Like they know they're carrying bad news.
Sure enough, the letterhead screamed trouble: HENDERSON, WRIGHT & ASSOCIATES, ATTORNEYS AT LAW - LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.
"Miss Pedretti," the letter began, "You are hereby summoned to appear for a deposition in the matter of Presley vs. Presley..."
The words swam on the page. Deposition. Testimony. Under oath. Required to appear. April 15th - three weeks away in Los Angeles. The papers even included a first-class plane ticket. Priscilla’s touch, no doubt. Class all the way, that one. Making sure she’d look magnanimous even against a homewrecker like me.
But first, according to the very detailed instructions, it was suggested I meet with Elvis' attorney in Memphis to "prepare for deposition." Like our relationship was something that could be reduced to sworn statements and legal documents. Like anyone could prepare me for facing Priscilla across a conference table while describing exactly how and when I'd fallen in love with her husband.
Fuuuuck.
I set the papers down and walked to my window. Chicago spread out below, a maze of lights and shadows. Somewhere out there, Richard was probably still sitting in that restaurant, trying to process how his nice, normal date had turned into a tabloid story. Meanwhile, in Memphis...
The phone rang, making me jump. I already knew who it would be.
"Jesus Christ, how fast does news travel?" I barked without preamble.
"Faster than Elvis after three cups of coffee." Marty Lacker’s voice was warm, familiar, despite not hearing him for months. "You get the papers?"
"Just now." I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. "How bad is it?"
"Well, Crazy’s taking it hard. Been in his room for four days straight, won't talk to nobody except Billy." A pause. "He's clean though. Almost two months now."
My traitorous heart did that stupid little dance again. "Marty..."
"Just thought you should know." His voice softened. "You doing okay?"
"Sure." I watched a couple hurry past below, huddled together against the wind. "I'm great. Just got summoned to testify about the most famous man in music. Probably gonna have to face his wife in a room full of lawyers. Might have to detail every moment of our relationship while the press has a field day. Why wouldn't I be okay?"
"Val–"
"I gotta go." I hung up before he could say anything else.
*
I called the community center first. "Family emergency," I told them, which wasn't exactly a lie. Then I called Deena.
"Three weeks?" She whistled low. "That's a lot of time to think about seeing him again."
"I'm not gonna see him." That was a lie. I started throwing clothes into a suitcase - different clothes this time. Nothing he'd bought me, nothing he'd seen me in. "I'm going to Memphis to meet with his lawyer, prepare for the deposition, and then to LA for the… the actual thing. That's it."
"Uh huh." I could hear her smirking through the phone. "And if you just happen to run into him?"
"I won't." But even as I said it, my hand brushed against that damn guitar charm I still hadn't put away. "Graceland's huge. And anyway, Marty says he's practically living in his room these days. I’m not going upstairs." Another lie.
"Marty says?" Now she was definitely smirking. "Thought you weren't talking to any of them anymore."
"What do you even wear to a deposition prep?" I changed the subject, holding up dresses like shields. "Something that says 'Yes, I slept with the man but I'm still a respectable witness'?"
"Honey," Deena laughed, "I don't think they make clothes for that."
*
The flight to Memphis felt endless. Maybe because this time I knew what was waiting. No more sneaking in through back doors or hiding from photographers. This time I had actual business. Official paperwork and everything.
Ed Hookstratten's office was exactly what you'd expect from Elvis' longtime attorney and friend. Wood-paneled walls, leather club chairs, and enough tchotchkes to stock a small museum. The man himself was tall, distinguished-looking, with kind eyes behind thick black-rimmed glasses that had probably seen every kind of trouble Elvis could get into.
"Miss Pedretti." He stood as his secretary showed me in. "Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat."
I sat, smoothing my skirt nervously. I'd finally settled on a navy blue suit that made me look older than my years. Professional. Trustworthy. Demure. The kind of gal you'd believe under oath.
"Now then." He settled behind his desk, pulling out a thick folder. "Let's talk about what to expect in Los Angeles. Priscilla's lawyers are... aggressive. They're going to try to paint your relationship with Mr. Presley as something tawdry. Something that began before the separation."
"But it didn't," I started, but he held up a hand.
"I know that. Mr. Presley has been very clear about the timeline. But they're going to try to twist things. They'll ask about Vegas, about when you first met him. They'll want details about every interaction, every moment alone. They'll try to make you nervous, make you slip up."
"Do I..." I swallowed hard. "Do I have to talk about everything? Every detail?"
"Only what's relevant to establishing the timeline." Ed's eyes were kind. "But yes, you'll need to be specific about when certain... developments in your relationship occurred."
My cheeks burned. Great. I'd have to discuss my sex life with Elvis in front of his wife and a room full of lawyers. While under oath.
"There's something else." Ed leaned forward slightly. "Mr. Presley has requested to sit in on our preparation sessions."
The world tilted sideways. "What?"
"He feels it's important. To show support." Ed's voice was carefully neutral. "Of course, if you're not comfortable..."
"When?" The word came out embarrassingly breathy.
"He's actually waiting in the conference room now."
My heart stopped, then started again double-time. "Now?"
"Only if you're ready." Ed stood. "We can do this another day if you prefer."
I thought about it, really thought about it. I could walk out right now. Get back on a plane to Chicago. Let Elvis fight his own battles for once. Who cares if they held me in contempt of court?
But then I remembered his face on that TV screen. Remembered Marty saying he was clean. Two months clean. Remembered how my heart did those stupid little traitorous flips every time someone uttered his name.
"Okay." I blurted out before I could regret it, barely standing on shaking legs. "Let's do this."
Ed led me down a hallway that felt miles long. Each step brought me closer to a moment I'd both dreaded and longed for. Almost four months of radio silence, and now...
The conference room door opened.
The first thing that hit me was his cologne - that same spicy scent that used to linger on my skin. Then I saw him, and my knees nearly gave out.
He was leaning against the conference table in a charcoal suit that had to be new - the cut was perfect, highlighting shoulders that seemed broader than I remembered. The jacket was open, revealing a crisp white shirt and a thin black paisley scarf. His hair was different too - styled but not overdone, letting those natural waves I used to love running my fingers through show. But it was his face that stopped my heart. Clear eyes, sharp jawline, that intensity I remembered but this time without the pill-haze that used to soften his edges. He looked devastating. He looked amazing.
He looked every inch the nightmare I'd been trying to forget.
"Miss Pedretti." His voice was pure business, but I caught how his fingers tightened on the table edge. "Thank you for coming."
I croaked something that might have been "Of course" and sank into the chair Ed so graciously pulled out for me. As far from Elvis as possible, but still close enough to notice he'd lost weight - all of it muscle now. No more hint of puffiness from the pills. Just lean strength wrapped in expensive wool.
God damn him.
"Let's begin with the timeline," Ed said, spreading papers across the table. "Miss Pedretti, when exactly did you and Mr. Presley first meet?"
I focused on Ed, on my notes, on anything but the way Elvis's presence seemed to fill the room like smoke and suck the air right out of me. "July 1969. At the International Hotel in Vegas. I was there to audition for Frank Sinatra's show."
"And the nature of your relationship at such time?"
"Just... friendly." My voice caught as Elvis shifted, his ring catching the light. New rings, I noticed. Different from the ones he used to wear. "We didn't become... involved until much later."
"Be specific about dates," Ed pressed. "They'll want exact timing."
I could feel Elvis watching me, could practically taste the tension rolling off him. But his face remained carefully blank as I detailed our early encounters, our growing closeness, that first kiss. Professional. Detached. Like we were discussing someone else's life entirely.
Only his hands gave him away - those beautiful fingers drumming against his thigh in a rhythm I still heard in my dreams. A tell I'd learned to read months ago, back when I knew every mood, every gesture, every unspoken thing.
"And the first time you were intimate?"
My cheeks burned. In my peripheral vision, I saw Elvis go very still.
"September 3rd," I said quietly. "At my apartment. We... it was..."
"Just the date is fine," Ed cut in smoothly. "They'll want to establish it was well after the separation papers were signed."
I risked a glance at Elvis then. Bad idea. His eyes met mine for just a second, but it was enough. Enough to see he was remembering too; that night of dim lights and whispered promises, his hands on my skin, the way he'd looked at me like I was everything...
"Let's take a break," Ed suggested. "Coffee?"
I fled to the bathroom, needing space, needing air. In the mirror, my reflection looked exactly like I felt. Wrecked. My carefully applied lipstick was bitten away, my cheeks flushed, my eyes too bright. So much for trying to forget him. One look had undone everything.
When I returned to the conference room, Elvis had relocated to the far end of the table. His jacket was off now, shirt sleeves rolled up, and I had to stop myself from staring at his forearms. Had they always been that tanned? That strong? He was studying some papers intently, but the muscle jumping in his jaw told me he knew exactly when I walked in.
Ed's secretary had brought coffee - good coffee, not the burnt studio sludge I remembered from our late-night recording sessions. I wrapped my hands around the mug like a shield.
"Now then," Ed continued, "let's discuss the living arrangements. Priscilla's lawyers will likely focus on your time at Graceland."
"I had my own apartment," I said quickly. Maybe too quickly. "In East Memphis."
"That's good. They'll want to establish you weren't living at Graceland full-time." Ed made some notes. "Though they may ask about overnight stays."
Elvis's pen scratched against paper, the sound sharp in the quiet room. I forced myself to breathe normally, to ignore how his shirt pulled across his shoulders as he wrote. Had he been working out? He looked like he'd been working out.
"There were... some nights," I admitted. "But always discreet. Always after..."
"After Priscilla had already gone back to California," Elvis finished. His voice was controlled, professional, but something in the way he said her name made my stomach clench. “Where she’s lived for the past - oh, two or three years.”
"Exactly." Ed nodded. "Now, about the Christmas incident--"
"Do we have to get into that?" The words burst out before I could stop them. In my peripheral vision, I saw Elvis' head snap up.
"They'll ask about it." Ed's voice was gentle. "It was widely reported that you left Memphis rather... abruptly. Right before Priscilla was expected to return."
"Because I thought..." I stopped, swallowed hard. "I was under the impression that..."
"That I was taking her back." Elvis's voice was very quiet. When I dared to look at him, his eyes were fixed on his coffee cup. "But I wasn't. I was trying to tell her in person about filing the papers. Trying to do the right thing. For once."
The right thing. Like that made up for the months of silence after. Like that explained why he hadn't come after me, hadn't called, hadn't...
"Miss Pedretti?" Ed's voice pulled me back. "Are you alright?"
"Fine." Suddenly, my stomach hurt. I took a sip of coffee, nearly burning my tongue. "What else do they need to know?"
The questions continued - endless, specific, humiliating. Yes, I knew he was married when we met. No, nothing happened until after Vegas. Yes, I was aware of his... history with other women. No, I never expected or received any financial support.
Through it all, Elvis sat like a statue, only his hands betraying him. They kept moving - adjusting his tie, running through his hair, drumming that maddening rhythm on the table. Once, he got up to pace by the window, and the sunlight caught him just right. The sight of him outlined against the reddening sky, strong and clear-eyed and more beautiful than ever, nearly undid me completely.
"I think that covers the major points," Ed said finally. "We'll meet again tomorrow to go over–"
"Actually," Elvis cut in. He glanced at me for just a second. "I’ve got some studio time booked."
My heart squeezed. I pictured us being together in the recording booth, making beautiful harmonies.
"Day after tomorrow then," Ed said. "Same time?"
I nodded, already gathering my things, needing to escape before I did something stupid like cry. Or beg him to explain that agonizing silence. Or ask him if he still thought about that night in the rain, when he'd...
"Valerie."
I froze at the door, his voice hitting me like a physical touch.
"Thank you," he said softly. "For doing this. For... everything."
I didn't turn around. Couldn't. "Sure. Whatever helps."
The hallway felt miles long as I walked away, my heels clicking against marble in rhythm with my hammering heart. Behind me, I could have sworn I heard him say something else, but I kept walking. Some doors, once closed, should probably stay that way. Even if they held everything I ever wanted on the other side.
*
The Memphis humidity hit me like a wet blanket as I left Ed's office. March here felt like June anywhere else - the air thick with the heft of memories I'd been trying to outrun. I'd forgotten how this city got under your skin, how it made everything feel more intense somehow.
I'd booked a room at the Peabody this time, not trusting myself anywhere closer to Graceland. The hotel was exactly as grand as I remembered - all marble floors and crystal chandeliers, those famous ducks still doing their daily parade through the lobby. But it felt different now. I felt different.
"Messages for you, Miss Pedretti," the desk clerk said as I passed. Three pink slips, all from the same person.
Sophie: "Heard you were in town. Dinner?"
Sophie: "Don't you dare hide in that fancy hotel room."
Sophie: "Getting takeout from Rendezvous. Bringing the crew. Be there at 7. No arguments."
I smiled despite myself. Trust Sophie to know exactly what I needed.
She showed up right on time with Mary, Ginger, and Donna, their arms full of ribs and coleslaw, faces full of questions they were too polite to ask. At least at first.
"So," Ginger said finally, watching me pick at my food. "How'd it go?"
"Oh, you know." I took a long sip of orange soda. "Just had to discuss my sex life with Elvis in front of his lawyer while the man himself sat there looking like every fantasy I've ever had, only better. No big deal."
Mary nearly choked on her ribs. "Better?"
"God, Mary." I flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "He's… different. Like someone turned up all his colors or something. And that suit..." I groaned. "That damn suit should be illegal in at least forty states."
"You know he’s been living at the studio,” Sophie added.
My heart did that stupid little flip it always did when anyone mentioned what he was up to.
"He looks happy," I said finally. "Healthy. Like he's finally..."
"Finally what?"
"Himself." I sat up, reaching for a rib. I was happy for him, truly. But so very sad for myself. "And I'm stupid for even noticing. For even caring. He had four months to call, to explain about Christmas, to... to anything. But he didn't."
Sophie was quiet for a long moment. "Maybe he couldn't."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just... there's things you don't know. About after you left." She picked up a napkin, started shredding it carefully. "He was bad, Val. Real bad. The Colonel had to cancel so many meetings. Jerry says they nearly lost him a couple times."
The coleslaw turned sour in my stomach. "What?"
"Then one day, about two months ago, he just... stopped. Everything. Pills, booze, all of it. Started getting real serious about things." She looked at me carefully. It hadn’t occurred to me that she’d even known about the pulls, much less discuss them openly. How much of a cocoon was I living in?
"Don't." I stood up, needing to move. "Don't try to make this into something it's not. He's getting divorced because Priscilla wants to live in California. Because their marriage has been over for years. It has nothing to do with..."
"With the fact that he's recording your favorite songs?" Donna’s voice was gentle. "The ones you used to sing together late at night? Don’t think we weren’t listening."
I stared out the window. Far ahead I could see Beale street spread out like a carpet of lights, and somewhere out there, Elvis was in his studio, singing songs he loved. Songs I used to sing. My throat felt tight.
"I can't," I whispered. "I can't do this again. Can't let myself hope that maybe this time..."
"Then don't." Sophie stood, came to stand beside me in her motherly way. "Just... be here. Do what you came to do. And maybe..."
"Maybe what?"
"Maybe this time you'll both be ready for it."
*
The whiskey burned going down. I never really drank but tonight felt like a whiskey kind of night. The first glass had made my hands stop shaking. The second was just starting to blur the edges when the phone rang.
I stared at it, watching it rattle against the nightstand like it was trying to escape. I wasn’t expecting a call, but I knew. The same way I always knew when it came to him.
"Hello?" My voice came out steady. Thank God for Jack Daniel's.
Silence. Just breathing. Then: "This is harder than I thought it would be."
My heart seized. His voice was different. Rougher, like he'd been in the studio all day. Or like maybe he'd been doing a lot of thinking too.
"Don't." I took another sip, letting the burn ground me. "Just... don't."
"Valley—"
"I can't do this with you right now." My fingers tightened on the glass. I pressed it to my forehead and sighed. "Tomorrow's gonna be hard enough without..."
"I know." He sounded tired. Human. That was always the most dangerous version of him. "Just wanted to hear your voice."
"Well, you heard it." The words came out sharper than I meant them to. Or maybe exactly as sharp as I meant them to. "Goodnight, Elvis."
"Wait—"
I hung up. My hands were shaking again.
The phone rang again immediately. I let it ring five times before unplugging it.
Later that night, my reflection stared back at me from the bathroom mirror - cheeks flushed from whiskey and something else, eyes too bright. Looking at myself, I could almost understand what he'd seen in me. Almost.
I finished my drink in one swallow and didn't let myself pour another. Tomorrow would be brutal enough without a hangover.
*
Morning hit me like a fever dream - all golden light and sticky heat, the kind of day that makes promises it can't keep. I spent too long getting ready, trying on and discarding outfits like armor. Finally settled on a cream-colored dress that made my skin glow and my dark hair look somehow deliberate instead of wild. Professional enough for a lawyer's office, but also...
"Stop it," I told my reflection. "Just stop."
Ed's secretary showed me into the conference room first this time. I was early, needing to compose myself before...
"Morning."
I froze. Elvis was already there, leaning against the window frame in a light gray silk shirt that made his eyes look impossibly blue. No scarf today, just a few open buttons that showed the gold chain I remembered all too well. He looked like he hadn't slept. Join the club.
"You're early," I managed, proud of how steady my voice sounded.
"Couldn't sleep." His eyes met mine in the window's reflection.
Last night's phone call hung between us like smoke. I busied myself with my notes, trying not to notice how the morning light caught his profile, how his hands kept moving restlessly, how he seemed to take up all the oxygen in the room just by existing.
"About that–" he started.
"Don't." I gripped my pen tighter. "Please."
"Good morning!" Ed swept in, saving me from whatever Elvis had been about to say. "Shall we begin? We need to discuss the more... delicate aspects of the timeline today." I thanked my lucky stars that Colonel Parker had chosen to sit in the waiting room today.
Even with that small consolation, my stomach still dropped. The delicate aspects. Like how exactly we'd gone from stolen kisses to shared beds. Like when exactly I'd gone from being his backup singer to his...
"Actually," Elvis' voice was rough, "maybe I should step out for this part."
"No." The word surprised us both. "Stay. They're going to ask about all of it in LA anyway. Might as well..." I swallowed hard. "Might as well get it all out now."
His eyes met mine, dark with something that made my pulse jump. For a moment, I saw everything there - remembered heat, old promises, new regrets. Then he nodded once and took his seat.
"Very well," Ed opened his folder. "Let's discuss September third."
"September third." My voice sounded far away. "Elvis had finally come up to my apartment. We'd been... there had been moments before. Almost moments. But that night..."
I could feel Elvis's eyes on me, knew he was remembering too. The way he'd shown up at my apartment door, lean and hungry. How he'd stood there on my carpet, looking at me like a man who'd finally stopped running from something. From everything.
"Be specific about the timing," Ed pressed. "Priscilla's lawyers will want to establish--"
"It was late," I cut in. "After ten. We'd been recording all day, then I'd gone to dinner with some of the session singers. He came by after, said he wanted to talk about the arrangements we'd been working on. But..."
Elvis shifted in his chair. His knuckles were white where he gripped his pen.
"And then?"
God. How could I possibly describe it? The way the air had changed between us as he stood in my tiny living room. The easy conversation that had turned into something else entirely. How we'd gone from discussing music to... to everything.
"We..." I stopped, started again. "It wasn't planned. We were just talking, and then suddenly we weren't talking anymore, and..."
"I understand this is difficult," Ed said carefully, "but for legal purposes, we need to establish that nothing physical occurred before the separation papers were signed. Priscilla's lawyers will try to suggest otherwise."
"Nothing happened before the separation," I said firmly, though my voice shook slightly. "That night was the first time. And after... after that, we agreed it couldn't happen again. Not until Priscilla had gone back to California."
In my peripheral vision, I saw Elvis' hand tighten on his pen. He was staring straight ahead now, jaw clenched, but I could feel the tension radiating off him.
"And you maintained that agreement?" Ed asked.
"Yes." The word felt like glass in my throat. "Until she left. We both... we knew it had to be that way."
Ed made some notes. "And when the relationship resumed?"
"Approximately three weeks later." My voice was barely a whisper now. "After Priscilla had gone home to California. And I saw the papers in the drawer.. they were signed months before that.”
"Miss Ped–Valerie." Elvis's voice was strangled. When I dared to look at him, his face was tight with barely controlled emotion. "You don't have to-"
"Yes, I do." I turned back to Ed. "They're gonna ask all this in Los Angeles anyway, aren't they? About every detail, every moment?"
"They'll try," Ed admitted. "They'll want to establish a pattern of behavior. But you don't need to share anything... intimate. Just the timeline."
"September 23rd," I said quietly. "That's when we... when things changed. Well, we - you know - for the second time. And yes, I'm sure of the date. Yes, it was after she left. And no, we never..." I swallowed hard. "It was never about hurting anyone. We tried so hard not to..."
"I think that's sufficient," Ed said gently, closing his folder. "We'll take a break and--"
"No." Elvis stood abruptly, his chair scraping back. "We're done. All of it. She's not doing this anymore today."
"Elvis--" Ed started.
"I said we're done." His voice had that edge I remembered, the one that meant he was about to lose control of something. Of everything. "Give us a minute?"
Ed closed the door behind him, leaving us in a silence broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning. Elvis stood at the window, hands in his pockets, looking out at Memphis like he was seeing it for the first time.
"You didn't have to stop the prep," I said finally. "I can handle it."
"Can you?" He turned, and something in his face made my chest tight. Not the old dramatic Elvis - just a man who looked tired. "Because I'm not sure I can. Sitting here, listening to all of it laid out like... like it was just dates on a calendar."
"That's all they need," I said. "Just the timeline."
"Is it?" He leaned against the window frame. "Because it feels like they're trying to turn this into some cheap scandal."
"Wasn’t it?" The words came out before I could stop them. "The backup singer and the married star?"
"No." His voice was quiet but firm. "We were never that. You know we weren't."
I did know. That was the hell of it.
"I’m clean," he said suddenly. "Two months now."
"I heard." I studied my hands.
"Should've done it sooner. Should've..." He stopped, started again. "Should've done a lotta shit sooner."
The simplicity of that admission hit harder than any dramatic declaration could have. This was the Elvis I remembered - the real one, underneath all the showmanship and easy smiles. The one who could break your heart just by being honest.
"Why didn't you call?" I asked finally. "After Christmas, after... everything."
"Honestly?" He gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "I was a mess. Needed to get my head straight first. Figure out who I was without..." He gestured vaguely at himself, and I knew he meant without the pills, without the haze he'd lived in for so long.
We stood in silence for a moment, the weight of missed opportunities and wasted time settling between us like dust.
"We should get back to it," I said, gesturing toward the paperwork on the table. "Finish the prep."
Elvis nodded, straightening himself. Just like that, the mask slipped back into place. Professional. Distant. Like we hadn't just cracked open something we couldn't quite close again.
The next two weeks stretched like molasses. More prep sessions, more carefully worded statements, more moments of trying not to look at each other across conference tables. Memphis watched us like a soap opera, every coffee shop and beauty parlor buzzing with theories about why I was back in town.
"Ignore them," Sophie advised over sandwiches one afternoon. "They'll talk no matter what you do."
"Easy for you to say." I pushed my coleslaw around my plate. "You're not the one getting death stares at the grocery store."
"No, but I did see Mrs. Milton organizing another prayer circle for your soul." She grinned. "Though this time some of the younger girls told her to stuff it. Times are changing, even in Memphis."
The flight to LA loomed closer. I decided neither to use the tickets Priscilla so graciously provided nor to fly out with Elvis and the boys. Instead, Ed had arranged everything just for me - flight, hotel reservations, a car to meet me at LAX. The Colonel's influence, making sure everything looked respectable. Like I was a legitimate witness, not some little homewrecking hussy being dragged into court.
The night before we left, my phone rang.
"You packed?" Red's voice was gruff with concern.
"Almost." I stared at my open suitcase. "What do you even wear to get grilled by your... by Elvis' wife's lawyers?"
"Ex-wife," he corrected gently. "And wear whatever makes you feel strong. You're gonna need it."
He wasn't wrong. LAX hit like an uppercut - all sunshine and palm trees and reporters who somehow knew exactly which flight to watch for. The flashbulbs started before I even hit baggage claim.
"Miss Pedretti! How long were you and Elvis–"
"Is it true that–"
"What do you say to accusations–"
Ed's promised car materialized like magic, whisking me away to a hotel that probably cost more than my rent. The suite was bigger than the first floor at school.
"Remember," Ed said as we did one final prep session that evening, "just stick to the facts. Don't let them bait you into emotional responses."
Easier said than done when you're about to face the woman whose husband you... No. Not husband. Not anymore. The papers made that clear, even if my guilt hadn't quite caught up to reality.
*
The deposition room felt like a tomb. Everything was cream-colored and sterile, from the walls to the conference table that stretched like a barrier between two worlds. I was early - or so I thought.
She was already there.
Priscilla sat at the far end, a vision in cream Chanel tweed that probably cost more than my first car. Even now, the sight of her hit like a left hook. She was just as beautiful as that night at the International - all delicate features and perfect posture, making me feel large and ungainly in my navy suit that suddenly seemed cheap and ill-fitting.
They say men "cheat down," but looking at her, I felt it in my bones. What could Elvis possibly have seen in me when he had this porcelain doll at home? I was all wrong angles and wild curls that the humidity had already started to revolt against. Too fleshy, too loud, too... everything she wasn't.
Her eyes met mine across the room - cool, assessing, like she was cataloging every flaw. I forced myself to hold her gaze even as my stomach churned.
The Colonel arrived just before the attorneys, settling into a chair near the back of the room like a spider watching its web. His presence felt like another weight pressing down.
The attorneys filed in like well-dressed vultures. Priscilla's lead counsel, Andrew Marshall, looked exactly like you'd expect. Silver-haired, sharp-featured, with eyes that had probably never smiled in their life. His team arranged themselves around him like a pack of wolves circling prey.
Elvis arrived last, flanked by Ed Hookstratten and his team. He looked devastating in a charcoal suit I'd never seen before. Our eyes met briefly before he took his seat, and something in his expression made my heart stumble.
"Please state your name for the record," the court reporter began.
"Valerie Marie Pedretti."
"And your occupation, Miss Pedretti?" Marshall's tone was almost friendly.
"I'm a singer and music teacher."
"How long have you been performing professionally?"
This wasn't so bad. Just basic background questions. I felt myself relax slightly. "About eight years. I started teaching music while still in college."
"And how did you come to be in Las Vegas in July 1969?"
"I was there to audition for Frank Sinatra's show at the International."
"Successful audition?"
"No, sir."
"But you stayed in Vegas anyway?"
"I had other opportunities." The words came easily. These were simple facts, nothing to fear.
"Yes, quite fortunate how those opportunities presented themselves." Marshall's tone shifted slightly. "Tell me about the elevator, Miss Pedretti."
"Objection to form," Ed cut in. "Vague question."
"I'll rephrase." Marshall's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Please describe your first encounter with Mr. Presley."
I recited the story we'd rehearsed. "We met in an elevator at the International. Brief conversation. Professional."
"Professional." Marshall tested the word like wine. "And after that?"
"Mr. Presley offered me a position as a backup singer."
"Just like that? No audition? No formal process?"
I felt the first hint of danger. "I had to prove myself in the studio."
"Of course." Marshall shuffled some papers. "And these late-night recording sessions... always strictly professional?"
"Yes." My voice was steady, but my hands had started to shake under the table.
"Even the night of August 31st?"
"We were working on arrangements—"
"Until 4 AM?" His smile sharpened. "With no other singers present?"
The room suddenly felt smaller. Across the table, Elvis shifted in his chair.
"Miss Pedretti," Marshall continued, his tone deceptively light, "let's discuss the gifts."
"Objection," Ed started, but Marshall waved him off.
"Simply establishing the nature of their relationship."
"The jewelry, the clothes..." Marshall consulted his notes. "Quite generous for a professional relationship."
Something in me snapped. "Is accepting a gift from a friend against the law, Mr. Marshall?"
The room went very still. I caught myself too late, remembering Ed's warnings about staying calm. Across the table, Elvis's lips twitched slightly.
"Friends." Marshall's voice hardened. "Is that what you call it? These 'friendly' gifts worth thousands of dollars? This 'friendly' apartment in Memphis?"
"I paid my own rent," I said quietly, trying to recover my composure.
"With money earned from your suddenly flourishing career? Amazing how doors opened once you became Mr. Presley's... friend."
Each word felt like another cut. I forced myself to breathe steadily, to remember Ed's coaching. Don't let them bait you.
"Let's discuss Christmas, Miss Pedretti." Marshall's voice took on a new edge. "The night you fled Memphis rather... dramatically."
"I left because I believed Mrs. Presley was returning home." The rehearsed line felt hollow now.
"And why would that concern you? If, as you claim, nothing inappropriate had occurred?"
"I wanted to be respectful of their marriage."
"Respectful?" Marshall's laugh was soft, cruel. "Is that what you call your behavior in this photograph?"
He slid a manila envelope across the table. Inside were photos from Vegas - innocent moments made to look sordid. Elvis and I at the piano. Walking in the garden. Leaving the studio late at night.
"Quite cozy for a 'professional' relationship, wouldn't you say?"
I couldn't speak. Each photo felt like another nail in the coffin of everything beautiful we'd shared. Every moment twisted into something… cheap.
"But this," Marshall produced another photo with theatrical timing, "this is my personal favorite."
My heart stopped. There it was in glossy black and white. Elvis and me outside the service entrance. The kiss that had started everything falling apart. The one Red thought he'd contained.
From the back of the room, I caught the Colonel's slight smile. He'd known. Of course he'd known.
"Perhaps you can explain this particular... professional interaction?" Marshall's voice dripped with false concern.
Hot tears pricked at my eyes but I wouldn't let them fall. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"This was taken after the separation papers were signed," I managed.
"But before they were filed," Marshall countered. "While Mr. Presley was still very much married to my client." He turned to directly address Priscilla. "I'm sorry you have to see this, Mrs. Presley."
Across the table, Elvis made a sound low in his throat - the kind of sound a wounded animal might make. His hands were clenched so tight his rings must have been cutting into his skin.
"The timing of this photograph," Marshall continued, "suggests a rather different story than the one you've been telling. Phone records show calls to your apartment at all hours. Staff reports intimate dinners. And now this... very convincing evidence of a relationship that clearly began long before any legal separation."
The implication hung in the air like smoke. I sat perfectly still as Marshall systematically destroyed every beautiful memory, every tender moment, every time Elvis had looked at me like I was his salvation.
"In fact," Marshall pressed, "isn't it true that your relationship with Mr. Presley was instrumental in the breakdown of his marriage?"
"No," I whispered, but the word had no power anymore. Not with that photo staring up at me, damning in its simple truth.
"I think we need a break." Ed's voice cut through the fog of humiliation.
I stood on trembling legs, my dignity in shreds but my spine still straight. As I made my way to the door, I caught Priscilla watching me. Something flickered across her perfect features - not quite sympathy, but understanding maybe. She knew what it cost to love him. What it cost to lose him.
Behind me, I heard chairs scraping; Elvis trying to follow, probably, and his lawyers holding him back. The Colonel's voice, low and firm: "Let her go, boy. This is how it has to be."
Even through the tears that threatened to fall, I held my head high. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me break. Not Marshall, not Priscilla, not even the Colonel with his calculated chess moves. But inside, something had shattered. The last remnants of whatever fairy tale I'd been telling myself about loving Elvis Presley.
In the bathroom, I pressed my forehead against the cool mirror and watched my tears finally fall. They'd been playing us all along. The Colonel, Marshall, maybe even Priscilla - they'd had that photo in their pocket like a silver bullet with my name on it. Just waiting for the right moment to pull the trigger.
The worst part? It was such a beautiful photo. Even in black and white, you could see it - the way Elvis held me, the way my hand curled into his jacket, the perfect capture of a moment when love felt bigger than consequences. Now it was just evidence. Another nail in the coffin on our relationship.
I could never, ever go back to him.
I wiped my eyes, fixed my makeup with shaking hands. There were still hours of this to get through. More questions, more photos maybe, more carefully aimed arrows meant to make me bleed.
*
Thankfully, the bathroom was all marble and soft lighting. The kind designed to flatter even the most tear-stained of faces. I white-knuckled the edge of the sink, watching water drip from my chin. My legs felt like two dangling noodles.
The door opened. In the mirror, I saw her enter - still perfect, still pristine in her cream Chanel. But something was different now. A slight tremor in her hand as she reached for her purse. The way she wouldn't quite look at her own reflection.
Without a word, without even looking at me, Priscilla placed a tissue on the counter beside my hand. The gesture was neither kind nor cruel. Just acknowledgment, maybe, of another woman trying not to cry in a fancy bathroom.
Jesus Christ.
I was being comforted by Elvis Presley's wife. The same woman whose marriage I'd helped destroy was wordlessly offering me tissues while I tried not to ruin my mascara. The absurdity of it made me want to laugh, but I was afraid if I started, it would turn into something else entirely.
I took the Kleenex, carefully dabbing under my eyes. We stood there in silence, two women doing the familiar dance of fixing makeup that couldn't really fix anything. The surreal intimacy of it all made my chest tight. In another life, another universe, we might have been friends. We'd have so much in common; the way he looked at us when we were too naive to know better, how it felt to be the center of his world until something else caught his attention, what it cost to love someone who belonged to everyone and no one at all.
"My attorneys that photo for months," she said softly, reapplying her lipstick with practiced precision. "They were waiting for the right moment."
Our eyes met in the mirror. For just a moment, I saw something flicker across her perfect features, not sympathy exactly, but recognition. And that was somehow worse than if she'd been cruel. Because she understood. More than anyone else on earth, she understood exactly what it felt like to be caught in Elvis's orbit, to be torn apart by his gravity.
Her kindness felt like another kind of punishment - because how fucked up was it that the woman who had every right to hate me was the only one who really knew what this felt like?
She capped her lipstick with a precise click. Checked her hair one last time. Then she was gone, the door closing behind her with barely a sound.
I wiped my eyes, straightened my shoulders. There were still hours of deposition ahead. More questions, more photos maybe, more carefully concocted accusations to make me crumple. But at least now I understood - this wasn't really about me or Priscilla anymore. This was just what happened when you loved a man who would always love being Elvis Presley more than he could ever love any of us.
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"There was just something about the way he sang, and also the way he'd interact, that was really really good. It was the musical communication and personal communication. He was just really nice to us. It was fun to play, you know."
— Jerry Scheff, bass player.
Scene from "Elvis On Tour" (MGM, 1972): Elvis and his bass player Jerry Scheff. Jerry played bass for the singer from July 31, 1969, to February 23, 1973, and again from April 24, 1975, until Presley’s final show on June 26, 1977, at the Market Square Arena in Indianapolis.
The admiration in Jerry's eyes when he looks at Elvis... it was earned. 🥹 Jerry said in an interview he didn't like Elvis' work until 1969, when he was invited to play in Elvis' band in Las Vegas for the first time.
Jerry 'thought that jazz and classical was what was happening at that time' and, although he had played some pop and rock 'n roll songs before working with the King, he never played rock "Elvis' way". The funny thing is: Jerry was a recording studio musician and played in several artists' records, including two records by Elvis himself, but from that moment as a musician working in studios with Elvis prior to work in his live concerts, Jerry has no memories. There's records showing that Jerry Scheff was one of the professional musicians playing in Elvis' soundtrack recording sessions in two occasions prior to the invitation to join in Elvis' TCB Band, but he doesn't remember such moments or ever seeing Elvis at that period. Jerry was asked about it and his first answer was negative, saying that he never played in any of Elvis' soundtrack albums, so the Union contracts were presented to him and there it was. Jerry played bass on the soundtrack albums for the films 'Double Trouble' and 'Easy Come, Easy Go' (both times in 1966).
Below, another picture of Jerry looking at El with that same shine in his eyes (this is 1970 - and that admiration in his eyes means a deep respect, as you'll notice further on):
1970. Jerry Scheff is at the far left in the picture above.
This information above comes from an 1999 interview with Jerry Scheff. Following, a few excerpts that I found very interesting.
Do you remember what songs you rehearsed [in 1969, getting ready for the 'comeback' at the International Hotel in Vegas]?
J: Oh, I can't remember. Blues songs, and 'Trying To Get To You', 'My Baby' - things like that.
I read somewhere that you rehearsed about 150 songs.
J: Oh yeah, we went over a LOT of songs, and then later we never rehearsed at all, so it's a good thing we rehearsed then! (laughs).
It surprises me a little that you rehearsed so many songs, and yet stuck to the same 12 - 15 songs the entire engagement.
J: Well, that wasn't up to us. It does after a while when you play the same songs, you know, get a little - But the saving grace was that Elvis never did anything the same way twice. We always had to keep our eye on him. You never could just, you know, relax (laughs), you had to pay attention. You never knew what he was gonna do. Never.
Elvis on stage in late 1969 and then early 1972 (with Jerry Scheff).
One interesting point in this interview is what Jerry said about Elvis and his political views:
Did you ever discuss political issues with Elvis?
J: No, I never discussed politics with him. But in some ways Elvis was more conservative, and in other ways he was very liberal. He wasn't someone that was following some political line, you know. He'd figure out for himself what he thought was right.
Elvis with Jerry Scheff onstage in the 70s.
Here it is: The most heartwarming moment in this whole interview (I recommend you reading the full article that I'll link at the end), is when Jerry Scheff stands up for his friend:
Towards the end of his life, Elvis was criticized badly for his appearance, his weight gain and so forth.
J: You know, I've always been the kind of person that - I don't judge people on what they look like or on their faces. Period. I think that it very well could be that Elvis thought that he was a normal American man approaching middle age, and let himself go a little bit: 'It wasn't anybody's business'.
March 1977: Elvis and his musicians (TCB Band) on stage. Jerry Scheff is at the far up left corner, Ronnie Tutt hides behind his drums and James Burton is at the far right corner.
"The idea that it was Elvis' duty to keep himself pristine looking is ludicrous. It makes me angry to think that people think that. Why, what does he owe them? He doesn't owe them anything."
— Jerry Scheff
The press really went after him for it.
J: The press was just horrible. But then again, I don't remember a good review, even in the early years. The press was always horrible. I discounted what they said. There were jokes about him on television shows and stuff, and people were really really cruel. They don't say that about, let's say Neil Diamond. They don't say: 'Neil Diamond is bald now, why doesn't he get a toupet?' or 'He's got a paunch'. Or David Crosby of Crosby, Stills and Nash. They don't go on about him, and he's overweight. But it was Elvis, you know. It makes me angry, it really does. People wanna make money, and if they need to be nasty about it, they'll do that. They'll crack jokes - Saturday Night Live will have a parody of Elvis, some fat guy with a jumpsuit on, and everybody goes Ha, Ha, Ha. They're like grave-robbers, you know. I don't have any respect for them. That part of human nature is not a very positive part of our make-up. A lot of the troubles between human beings are the lack of compassion of one another, and a lack of tolerance between human beings. How many of these same people that are saying this about Elvis and putting these parodies on the screen, how many of them have potbellies, how many of them have let themselves go, how many of them have other faults that are far worse than than the 'sin' of letting yourself get a little overweight? Or being so unhappy that you're - Because I have been there. I had a really bad bout of clinical depression some years ago. I was in that syndrome, that whole thing - drugs, alcohol and stuff. I understand that, you get caught in that. It's not a nice thing. Elvis was obviously in a depression in his last years. Feel some compassion for him, you know. He's a human being, for crying out loud - no worse, and no better. But he was certainly not as bad as some people. He always treated me with respect. We had an extremely good relationship. He was NEVER disrespectful to me. He was always there if I wanted to see him.
Another very interesting thing Jerry Scheff said concerns Elvis' Memphis Mafia guys. It caught my attention because linked that recollection to one of Elvis' old times army buddies' book (Johnny Lang's "My Army Days with Elvis: Friendship, Football, & Follies"). Johnny mentioned attending Elvis concerts in 1975 and 1976. In one of those occasions, Johnny talked to Charlie Hodge backstage and asked him if he could see Elvis and talk to him up close again, after many years without seeing each other after the army service. As Johnny shared, Charlie behaved overprotective and, without even checking, said Elvis was too tired to see anybody, but that he would say Johnny said 'hi' to him. It makes me sad to know not only friends like Johnny were hurt by what they probably assumed were strict orders by Elvis to those men working for him, and that they were only following them, but to think that Elvis many times didn't even was aware there were old friends that still cared for him so much to travel far distances with their families just to watch him perform live on stage, but also hoping that maybe they could be with him for a moment just to catch up a bit, and he never even heard about it... never. We know more about some of those cases than Elvis knew. That's so sad and it makes my blood boil, to be honest. How could they? Jerry Scheff, however, trusts they had their reasons to do such thing as to block people to get too near to Elvis, even old friends:
J: During the last years, these people in the so-called Memphis Mafia got into this Howard Hughes thing, where they could pick and choose who could see him. One night Charlie Hodge came down in the dressing-room, and said: 'You know, Elvis is really bumped out because you guys don't wanna see him'. And Ronnie and I said: 'Charlie, we have been down there to see him, but these guys always say: 'Oh, Elvis is busy'. So Charlie went back and told Elvis that, and Elvis hit the ceiling. Charlie came back and told us that Elvis just blew a stack. So there was that kind of stuff. I'm sure that all these people fulfilled some need that Elvis had, and I don't mean to question their motives. They just did what they thought would be best for him. So I don't try to judge that. But I do know that Elvis was always there for me.
Interview conducted in Denmark 1999 by Arjan Deelen. All rights on the excerpts published here goes to elvis.com.au. There's many other interesting information to learn on this interview. READ THE FULL ARTICLE HERE.
From 1960 up to today, I've noticed how the fans were drawn to and showed their love for Elvis. I must admit, I've never seen anything like this before or since with any other entertainer or anyone else. It amazes me to think, he touched that many people in the world, and you really didn't know him.
You saw his movies and listened to his songs, and somehow you fell in love with him. There was something about him that you saw or heard that reached into your heart and soul, and changed your life forever.
You read all the books about him, wanting to know more. You start or belong to Elvis group pages on Facebook and online, hoping to learn or get a glimpse of something you've never seen before.
You spend your hard earned money to come to Memphis and tour where he lived, and pay your respects. You visit the places he would frequent, in Memphis, Las Vegas and L.A. or wherever he went.
You show your loyalty to those close to you, and the world. Whenever someone says something bad about him, you always speak up and defend him.
How can one man get that kind of love and loyalty from so many? The answer is simple. Elvis was the most transparent man in the world. You knew he loved you from the first moment you heard or saw him. You knew, if anyone ever cared for you, it was Elvis. You knew he would never judge you or leave you.
Many say or think Elvis was unlucky in love. That's not true, he had many loves. Every one of them had a special place in his heart. But the one love that he cherished the most. Was you.
For all the love and loyalty, you had for him, he had for you... Everything he did, he did for you. You are/was his world. He often said, if it wasn't for them, I'd be nothing. I owe them everything.
His love for you is what kept him going. His love was so great for you, he never stopped performing. He was advised to slow down a little or even take a year off. But he wouldn't do so. He said, I can't leave my fans.
Elvis may have left the building, but he never left your hearts, and you never left his.
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