A Little Thing Called Life Read online

  Dedication

  To Brandon and Brody—

  I dedicate not only this memoir, but my very life to you. You are my reason for being, and the greatest source of inspiration for every beat of my heart and every breath that I take. Thank you for teaching me how to love unconditionally. Life has presented more than your fair share of challenges and circumstances that you have had to accept and understand. That you have had the capacity to reach deep into your being to excavate noble displays of forgiveness, tolerance, strength, humility, fearlessness, loyalty, love, and integrity, inspires me every day to try to be a better human being. Enjoying the privilege and honor of being your mother and watching you grow into the incredible men you are today has been my life’s greatest blessing. I love you immeasurably—to infinity—and back again …

  To Mama and Daddy—

  I pray that wherever you are in the great ethereal unknown, you will feel the love and gratitude I send out to you for being the best parents you knew how to be. I think of you every day, and I acknowledge and thank you for helping to nurture and mold me into the person I am. I am grateful for the sacrifices you both made so that Sam and I could have a better life than you did. I write my life’s history in part because I want Brandon and Brody to have questions answered that I never got to ask you. I hope they will ask about anything unanswered on these pages. Mama and Daddy, you were the genesis of my life, and it’s only with time and experience I now understand you were the truest hearts who would never turn away from me—loving me unconditionally as I now love my sons. That is a gift I could never repay, I can only pass it on and be grateful for your devotion. I love you eternally.

  Contents

  DEDICATION

  INTRODUCTION

  CHAPTER 1 The King Is Gone

  CHAPTER 2 Made in Memphis

  CHAPTER 3 Love at First Sight

  CHAPTER 4 A Vegas Fairy Tale

  CHAPTER 5 The Other Elvis

  CHAPTER 6 TCB with TLC

  CHAPTER 7 A Little Breathing Room

  CHAPTER 8 You’ll Always Be Safe with Me

  CHAPTER 9 Our Hospital Home

  CHAPTER 10 The Pain of Too Much Tenderness

  CHAPTER 11 Hee Haw Honey

  CHAPTER 12 A Final Goodbye at Graceland

  CHAPTER 13 Gold Medal Love

  CHAPTER 14 A Model Family

  CHAPTER 15 I Married a Woman

  CHAPTER 16 Music and Lyrics by Us

  CHAPTER 17 Navigating Life

  CHAPTER 18 No Filter

  CHAPTER 19 Voices That Care

  CHAPTER 20 No Hallmark Memories

  CHAPTER 21 Academy Award–Nominated Songwriter

  CHAPTER 22 Villa Casablanca

  CHAPTER 23 Party of One

  CHAPTER 24 Princes of Malibu

  CHAPTER 25 Caitlyn Coming Out

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PHOTO SECTION

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  SONG CREDITS

  CREDITS

  COPYRIGHT

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  Introduction

  I originally began writing this book over ten years ago, but after completing about four chapters, I realized I could not reveal my whole truth without compromising or infringing on another’s. So I put my book on the shelf until Caitlyn Jenner emerged, freeing me to share my journey.

  I can’t say it has been easy to dig down deep to excavate old, emotion-eliciting memories that I had long ago dealt with and compartmentalized. It has been furthermore challenging to relive the moments, feel the emotions again, and articulate them sensitively and effectively. But in navigating those personal, internal, meandering rivers of thought, I hold firm to the belief our experiences in life are meant to be shared with one another.

  In many ways, the origins of this book go back even further than ten years. I was first approached to tell my story in a book almost forty years ago when Elvis died. I didn’t accept because I never wanted to be thought of as someone who exploited my relationship with Elvis. There was already an abundance of those opportunistic individuals. I wanted to stand apart as someone who had been there for the right reason. It has always meant more to me than riches to know that as he lay dying, the last thought Elvis would have had of me was the certainty that he had been loved purely by me. That knowledge offers a soul satisfaction that money cannot buy. I simply loved him and I felt an obligation to protect the memory of the time I’d shared with him.

  I knew, eventually, it would be important to discuss my time with him, to detail the man I knew for fans and cultural historians alike. I knew that by waiting until I had carved out my own way in the world and lived my life more fully, my inclusion of the Elvis years would carry more dignity and credibility. There was a sense of responsibility to Elvis’s memory and his legions of fans I felt then, and still feel to this day, to portray him as I knew him. As the adage goes, “You don’t really know someone unless you live with them.” Only two women ever actually lived with Elvis. I was one of the two.

  Trust is a critical component in every relationship. Elvis trusted me so completely that he allowed me to see him at his most vulnerable. He shared his deepest fears, sorrows, joys, memories, and aspirations with me. Elvis was a beautifully complex figure. All the passing years have allowed for many books and accounts of his life, his loves, his demise, and his subsequent purported sightings. So many of these have struggled to capture the paradoxical nature of the man I knew, and it was with no small sense of obligation that I knew my job was to do justice to the divergent sides of his personality—the good and the bad, the laughter and the rage, the levity and the depth.

  His paradoxical nature was demonstrated in every facet of his life. There is no question that Elvis had his dark side. And that dark side, like everything else about Elvis, was larger than life. I’m sure it comes as no surprise that Elvis was not a perfect man. After all is said and done, he was, and we should always allow him to be, remarkably human. It would be a disservice to his memory and disingenuous on my part to portray Elvis as anything but that. My honesty takes nothing away from his absolute greatness. Undoubtedly, Elvis Presley changed my life forever, and after nearly forty years of harboring his special words and deeds to myself, I now feel compelled to share Elvis with those who love him still.

  And yet I’ve always known that there would be more that I had to share. My poetry writing, which began when I was only nine years old, transformed into a career as a song lyricist not long after Elvis’s death. Of course, Elvis was an extremely influential and important part of my history, but the hopeful thing about life was that it kept going even after Elvis “left the building.” Never was that more true than in my case.

  In the years since my time with Elvis, the story of my life has become a richer, more complicated version than I ever could have imagined. After Elvis’s death, I met a man who would be my next great love, a man I was convinced would be with me for the rest of my life—Bruce Jenner, the father of my two sons, Brandon and Brody.

  Bruce and I were together for six amazing years, building a perfect family and living a life as close to idyllic as I could have imagined. But in the same vein of sharing the truth and trying to live a life of integrity, I would not have been able to write an honest portrayal of my marriage to Bruce Jenner and the real reason we divorced, until now. Bruce confessed to me more than thirty years ago that he had gender dysphoria, and I kept his secret for all that time, not even telling our sons until three years ago. I would have never been the one to “out Bruce.” I have respectfully kept these secrets private and would have taken these confidences to my grave had Bruce not publicly announced her transition to Caitlyn. It has always remained of crucial importance to me that Bruce be allo
wed to reveal his own truth on HER own terms. As Caitlyn, she is doing that. (Forgive the mixed use of pronouns when referring to Bruce, now Caitlyn. I will refer to Bruce as him before the transition because that’s who I knew and fell in love with. No disrespect intended toward her, Caitlyn—I hope you will understand the complexity of my position.)

  Caitlyn’s story, and her struggle, is uniquely hers; my experiences with Bruce from almost three decades ago are, commensurately, uniquely my own. I was devastated when Bruce confided to me his gender dysphoria and his plans to transition. My fairy tale unraveled concurrently with my confidence in my own judgment, sexuality, femininity, the future for my two baby sons, and everything of which I thought I was certain. As destabilizing as my new truth was, and as brokenhearted as I was, my very spirit ached for the pain and disassociation that Bruce had felt for all of his life. As much as this is about Bruce and Caitlyn, it’s not all about her. Every perspective has at least two sides, and this is the story of what I went through as a wife and a mother during a time when the cultural understanding of transgender was far less progressive than it is today.

  If Bruce had told me earlier of his gender issues, I would not have married him. I am so thankful to him, the universe, God, and any powers that be that he didn’t confide that truth because as difficult a time as that was, my marriage to Bruce gave me the two greatest joys of my life, my sons Brandon and Brody. They are the most important facets of my very existence. No matter what else I may have done or accomplished, no matter how many titles or awards I have received, no matter who I have loved—they will always be that part of my life of which I am most proud, and who I most love. They have inspired so many song lyrics that I have written, and I wish to share some of that inspiration with you. I have included some of those song lyrics here between each chapter of my life.

  I have been fortunate to enjoy a very successful career as a lyricist that includes an Academy Award nomination for best song in a motion picture for “I Have Nothing” by Whitney Houston from The Bodyguard. There have been Grammy nominations, songs written for various philanthropic purposes, and an Emmy win.

  And it was through my second marriage to mad musical genius David Foster that my songwriting career blossomed like never before, amid the backdrop of our sometimes difficult marriage. We were together for nineteen years, and shared a deep love for each other, for the art of making music, attempts at responsible parenting, and so much more. I will always be grateful for our time together, and I appreciate all that David has meant through the years to me and to my sons.

  Life is nothing if not unpredictably strange. And yet, every breath we inhale and exhale is a gift not to be taken for granted. Despite the unpredictable ride that I’ve been on, I continue to practice the art of forgiveness. Forgiveness is a gift we give ourselves. We can only keep our side of the street clean. What our neighbor does or doesn’t do is up to them. We cannot control other people. Time tempers all judgment, reveals all truth, and carves a deeper understanding of life and the human condition into our beings. I wouldn’t allow the impulse to have a “knee jerk response” to circumstances in the story of my life dictate that I write my memoir before its time had come. Now I feel the time is right.

  All of the events and experiences I share herein have been faithfully rendered as I recall them to the very best of my ability. In some cases, names have been changed to protect the privacy of those individuals. Though conversations stem from my keen recollection of them, and in some cases notes taken through the years, they are not meant to represent word for word documentation in every instance. I have painstakingly retold them in a manner that evokes the true meaning and feeling of what was said.

  I have often declared that the girlfriend, wife, or ex of a celebrated person must be twice as good to be taken half as seriously at anything. I truly feel that I’ve been blessed with a life filled with its own set of successes, failures, heartaches, joys, and emotional explorations. In sharing it, my hope is that it may provide inspiration, comfort, humor, understanding, enlightenment, entertainment, and even a sense of belonging to another soul in search. Although I feel that everyone has a story worth telling, and that every life holds the same worth, let’s be honest, some individual existences become “literary lives,” simply in the process of living them fully as time presents them. Some of us have found ourselves woven into extraordinary tapestries, pages and chapters of life that become natural fodder for a memoir. Such is the life I have lived thus far.

  The whole purpose of my career, and of my very existence, has been to connect with others on an emotional level. After all, the more we endeavor to understand and empathize with another human being’s life, the more we unravel the mystery of our own, this extraordinary gift we’ve been given, A LITTLE THING CALLED LIFE.

  “A Little Thing Called Life”

  Somewhere near, a baby cries

  Somewhere far, someone dies

  And everywhere you’d swear

  There were a pair of hidden eyes

  When the moon sets, the sun will rise

  Without a doubt, the rain will fall

  And then the sky, reclaims it all

  It’s just a simple cycle

  That happens someplace everyday

  It’s just a little thing called life

  We’ll never fully understand it

  And we can’t always command it

  The truth is not always plain to see

  Never ever underrate it

  We should always celebrate it

  Every day’s a miracle for me

  There’ll be smiles along with tears

  And you’ll be strong to mask your fears

  And people everywhere must share the ocean and the sky

  It’s just a little thing called life

  Extraordinary people live each day as you and I

  It’s just a little thing called life

  We’ll never fully understand it

  And we can’t always command it

  The truth is not always plain to see

  Never ever underrate it

  We should always celebrate it

  Every day’s a miracle for me

  The planet turns and love unfolds

  Passion burns, then turns cold

  But every day’s a new day

  Another chance to get it right

  It’s just a little thing …

  It’s just a little thing called life

  LYRIC: LINDA THOMPSON

  Chapter One

  The King Is Gone

  “Linda! It’s Lisa!” a breathlessly excited nine-year-old Lisa Marie Presley urgently gasped into the phone.

  An immediate smile crossed my face upon hearing the voice of the little girl I had grown to love deeply over the past several years. It was not uncommon for Lisa to telephone me in a playful mood just to say, “Hi,” and that she missed me, as she was doing now from Graceland in Memphis. Her father, Elvis, and I had broken up eight months before this August 16 phone call, after having lived together for almost five years. She had reached me in my apartment in Los Angeles, where her father had stayed with me on several occasions.

  “Hey—you little goobernickle!” I jokingly answered. Goobernickle was a term of endearment Elvis and I had come up with for his little offspring. “I know who this is. You don’t have to tell me!”

  “Linda! My daddy’s dead! My daddy’s dead!”

  “No! No!” I automatically responded, instantly frozen by a dread of acknowledging the truth. “He can’t be. He’s not, honey.”

  “Yes, he is! He is! They told me. He smothered in the carpet!”

  Numbly, I threw the phone across the room. I stood there, catatonic, gazing at the receiver. He smothered in the carpet, repeatedly raced through my stinging mind. Those gravity-filled words sank my heart with the reality that Elvis Presley was in all probability dead. On too many occasions to count, during my years of loving and caring for him, I had found and attended to him in deathly, compromisin
g circumstances like the one Lisa had just described.

  I stared at the phone for as long as it took me to gather my senses enough to realize that this incredibly bright and sensitive nine-year-old child had had the presence of mind to pick up the phone to share this devastating occurrence with me. She needs me, I thought, as I reached for the cold, hard, plastic transmitter that held my connection to the biggest part of Elvis’s heart, his little girl.

  “Oh, Lisa, are you sure, sweetheart?” I asked. “Are you sure he didn’t just go to the hospital like when I was with him before? Remember, he was just sick, but he got better?”

  “No, he’s gone. That’s what they said! Nobody knows yet! I called you first! Nobody knows but us! He’s dead!”

  Hearing the pain and disbelief in her too-young-to-lose-her-daddy voice, I knew I needed to say something to comfort Lisa.

  “Oh, Yisa Marisa,” I said, using another pet name Elvis and I had for her. “Your daddy loves you so much. Please always remember that. And, sweetheart, love never dies. You’ll always have that. You’ll always be his little Goobernickle, the one he’s loved the most. What he’s most proud of. It’ll be okay, honey. You’ll always feel his love with you.”

  I babbled on and on, hoping something I said might resonate with comfort and reassurance. I could just picture the diminutive, blond-haired, now fatherless Lisa Marie, her tiny hand clutching the phone, standing alone on unsteady little legs.

  “Who’s with you, baby?” I asked.

  Before I had more time to dwell on the lonely, imagined scenario playing out in my mind, I heard a familiar, calm, and deep-voiced, Southern drawl take over the phone.