Baby, Let's Play House_ Elvis Presley and the Women Who Loved Him - Alanna Nash [301]
However, such groups “do not consider me as their enemy, or as they call it, The Establishment,” he wrote. He knew so because he had done “an in-depth study of drug abuse and Communist brainwashing techniques, and I am right in the middle of the whole thing where I can and will do the most good.” All he needed, he said, was for the president to make him a Federal Agent-at-Large. And he would stay in Washington as long as it took.
The irony, Jerry says, is that Elvis “felt a certain amount of responsibility” for the way drugs were taking over the music business, “and he wanted to do something positive. He never said he wanted to be a narc.” His thinking was that if he were “talking with someone in the entertainment field and he knew it was a bad drug situation, he wanted to scare them out of that type of environment without busting them. He liked to have credentials, and he wanted to be able to show them a badge.”
“I would love to meet you just to say hello if you’re not too busy,” Elvis told the president at the close of his letter. Then as soon as they landed, penniless in Washington, Elvis insisted on dropping off his missive at the White House gates. It was 6:30 A.M. Elvis then had the limousine service take them to the Hotel Washington to await Nixon’s call.
Later that day, Joyce Bova was sitting at her desk looking over the Naval Court of Inquiry on the Pueblo incident. Her phone buzzed.
“My name is Jerry Schilling,” said the voice on the other end. “I’m a friend of Elvis Presley.”
She was too astonished to say anything.
“It’s because of Elvis that I’m calling. In fact, he’s here in Washington, and he wants to see you.”
“Put him . . . put Elvis on the phone.”
He was contrite now and told her he hadn’t been himself that night she walked out on him. He came to Washington, he said, to ask her to forgive him.
She wasn’t even sure what to say.
“How did you find me here, anyway? I never gave you this number.”
“It wasn’t easy! I had Schilling here calling all over Congress looking for you.”
Then he went through the whole thing, how he’d been there a few days before, then went on to California. But he’d tell her about all that later. Right now, all he wanted to do was find out where to send the car.
“And honey? Bring your sister.”
From then on, “Elvis always wanted my sister to come see him, too. He was acutely aware of our closeness and understood that ‘thing’ between twins and wanted it so badly himself. He always made her feel welcome anytime, anywhere, which was one of the qualities that was so precious about him and very important to me.”
By the time Joyce and Janice saw Elvis at the hotel that night, Sonny West had joined him, and Elvis had another story to tell: Outrageously dressed in his best “Vegas does D.C.” outfit—a velvet coat topping a black suede suit, a massive gold belt given to him by the International, glittering chains circling his neck, tinted sunglasses, and a cane—he got his meeting with the president in the Oval Office. He also came away with a promise of his cherished badge. John Finlator turned him down, but the president, who later said how much he had liked his visitor, wanted him to have it.
In a bizarre way, Elvis and Nixon hit it off. When the White House photographer was setting up his equipment, Nixon looked at Elvis and gave him a poke. “You dress kind of strange, don’t you?”
“Well, Mr. President,” Elvis said with a smile, “you got your show, and I got mine.”
Later that evening, Elvis and Sonny drove Joyce home in the limo. She gathered her things and returned with him to the hotel. It was December 21, 1970, the first time she spent the night with Elvis Presley.
“You’re a beautiful woman, and you’re a pure little girl, too, aren’t you?” he said sweetly.
They were sitting on the edge of the bed, and she was wearing a flimsy nightgown. She put her fingers to his lips.
“Joyce,