Baby, Let's Play House_ Elvis Presley and the Women Who Loved Him - Alanna Nash [308]
They were in the presidential suite of Philadelphia’s Bellevue Stratford Hotel the night of November 8 when he called her into the bathroom to show her how he kept his voice in shape, cupping running water in his hands and inhaling it through his nose, then violently arcing a geyser out of his mouth into the sink.
He laughed when she gave him a hard time about it and left the bathroom. But then he called her back, and when she walked to the door he was standing before her completely naked, which “blew my mind,” since it was so out of character for him to show himself that way. He once told the guys, “I don’t want these girls to know that I have this hillbilly pecker,” referring to the fact that he was uncircumcised, and he was so modest he always slept in pajamas.
“Look at this,” he said, and took hold of himself with his left hand.
“I’ve seen it before,” she said wryly. “Are you feeling all right, Elvis?”
“I want you to watch this.”
Now he pulled his foreskin back and washed himself with soap and water.
“Elvis!” she said. She couldn’t believe he wanted her to witness that and turned on her heel. “I’m going back into the bedroom.”
“You’re not embarrassed are you, baby? I just want you to know I’m clean.”
It wasn’t that she was embarrassed so much as she was astonished. She knew it was the drugs talking, and she was beginning to get scared. Not of him, really, but for him.
Seconds later, there was a loud knock at the door, which further surprised her, since no one had the nerve to disturb Elvis in his bedroom. But Elvis moved to answer it, as if he expected someone, and in walked a total stranger.
“Come on in, Doc,” Elvis said to the man in the gray suit. He was carrying a black bag, and eyed Joyce suspiciously.
She asked why Elvis needed a doctor, and he told her it was okay. Then the doctor pulled out a rubber tube and a hypodermic needle. Elvis rolled up the sleeve of his pajama top, and the doctor tied the tube around his arm.
“Elvis, what is that? What are you taking?” Joyce was nervous. She’d never seen him do anything like that before.
“Just wait,” he said. “It’s okay.” Then the doctor slipped the needle into his vein and slowly pushed the plunger. Joyce turned away, but Elvis said, “And give her one, too.”
She jerked around just as the physician pulled out the spent syringe.
“No! No!” she cried. She jumped back a half step. “I don’t want a shot of anything!”
Elvis pleaded with her. She’d feel better. It would help her sleep. They got into it then as the doctor took his leave. He wasn’t going to hurt her, he said. She should know that. But what was it? she asked. Did he even know?
“All you need to know,” he told her, “is that I say it’s something you need.”
As the argument wound down he asked a favor of her: Would she take the used needle back home and throw it away? He didn’t want anyone to find it.
When she awoke the next morning, the air conditioner was going full blast, and Elvis was as cold and clammy as the icy winter dawn, his breathing so shallow “that the incredibly handsome face seemed almost like a death mask.” Joyce saw then that his innocent shots and pills could kill both of them. Certainly, he was killing himself.
He could be the most charismatic man in the world, like the time he, Joyce, Janice, and Sonny took the limo to Amy Joy’s Donut Shop, an all-night drive-in in a tough part of the District where the local ghetto youth hung out. It was past 9 P.M., and Elvis didn’t really eat doughnuts the way legend has it. But when he saw the sign, it just felt like a familiar thing to do, the way he used to ride around Memphis at night and stop for sacks of Krystal burgers.
The limo had barely stopped rolling when at least twenty young black men hurried over, eager to see who could be inside such a vehicle.
The situation could have flashed out of control in an instant,