Edge of Reality [Elvis]

1968 - Singer Presents... Elvis

I really couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to be done making those horrible movies. Something had to change. I needed to get back into my music... somehow. But how? The Colonel had me on a really tight leash and had me on one through all of the 60s. It wouldn't be easy to escape it, but I had to if I didn't want to go absolutely insane.

"Elvis, are you listening?"

I jumped back to what we were doing. The Memphis Mafia and I, as well as Cilla and our six-week-old daughter Lisa Marie Presley who was held in her mother's arms, were outside in the NBC Studios lot in Burbank, California. The Colonel was showing us a sketch of this show I had to put on... a Christmas special, something I vehemently didn't want to do, especially in June when it was planned to be aired.

"Yeah, Colonel," I droned as we all stood near my RV we had been taking for my tour. "I have to do this Christmas special and wear a really tacky sweater."

They all heard the disgust in my voice, but no one said a thing about it. The Colonel remarked, "Yes, that's right. A lot of money is riding on this special, so it needs to be perfect."

Of course, he was only interested in the money aspect of this. Really, that was the only thing that drove him since he became my manager. Irritation gripped my heart, and I stormed away into the RV and slammed the door. I ran a hand down my face, trying not to let the anger in me rise. As of late, my temper was flying more so than ever, and both Daddy and the Colonel told me that I had to keep it under control. Well, maybe I wouldn't get so angry if they'd just let me loose!

The door to the RV opened, and I had my back to the person as I stood in the middle of the living room area of the RV. I smelled that perfume and heard a baby fuss.

"Cilla," I said to my wife, "what have I been doin' for the past several years, huh?"

She knew very well of my unhappiness due to those bad movies and soundtracks and how I felt that my connection to the music industry had been slowly weakening since doing those movies. It all brought me into a depression that I was still in. I felt her hand on my right arm.

"You've been making so many people happy, Elvis," she said in a gentle tone.

"People are happy with all those dumb movies I was in?" I quipped.

"You're their favorite star, so of course they would be happy to see you no matter what."

She was kind for trying to cheer me up, but it just wasn't working. "But what about me, Cilla?" I snapped and whirled around and saw her worried, beautiful face framed by her long dark hair. "What about what makes me happy, huh? What about my music? What about the very thing that made me into somethin' great over a decade ago?"

Her green eyes remained calm and understanding. "That music is still there, you just need to bring it back."

"And how? At the special? The Colonel and that vice president of NBC Mr. Sarnoff are gonna suffocate me in an ugly Christmas sweater while I sing those God-forsaken Christmas songs. What the hell has become of Elvis Presley? If this continues, he's gonna be gone! I'm gonna be gone and the only things people will remember me by are those horrible movies and songs to go along with 'em! They're gonna see me as that sleaze of an actor, not the person who I was before. And that's all thanks to that manager of mine and other no-goods who only care about money and keepin' me in line! They all don't care that I fell into a deep depression! They don't care that I'm not happy! I'm just a slave 'em!"

Tears stung my eyes, and Cilla and Lisa suddenly turned bleary. I sniffed and wiped the tears away with my fingers.

"Elvis, hold your daughter."