It seemed all she had to do was show up.

Kathalynn Turner Davis ditched beauty pageants for Hollywood, finding herself in the living rooms, nightclubs, sound stages, and lives of some of the era’s hottest celebs, including the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll himself. After a successful debut as a movie actress (hailed by critics as “the Judy Holliday of the ‘70s”) she set out for New York City to study under the renowned Stella Adler. That chapter—which included a marriage, babies, divorce, and a foray into the world of self-actualization—unfolded within the walls of the famed Dakota, next door to “The Maestro,” Leonard Bernstein, and John Lennon and Yoko Ono. Next came a new husband and the challenging role of suburban
“Stepford wife.” Eventually, Kathalynn enrolled in Columbia University and achieved a master’s degree in social work, which led her down a path of service, reigniting her passion for spiritual growth. Her quest for answers to life’s eternal questions took her to India and Israel, where she found herself face to face with the swami within.

Chapter 8 – Kissing the King

One night, I was enjoying a cozy evening in my West Hollywood apartment, just me and my Elvis records. I had cracked the front door open to let in some fresh air, and a cute young man with sideburns poked his head in.?

“Thank you for playing my boss’s music!” he said in a charming Southern drawl while flashing a sweet smile.?

“Excuse me?” I jumped, taken aback. “Who are you?”?

“Oh! My name’s Charlie Hodge. I sing backup for Elvis; he’s one of my good friends. I live on the second floor, right upstairs from you.”?

In Hollywood, just about everyone introduced themselves as someone who knew someone famous or else rattled off their show business credits.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Charlie Hodge,” I said, not knowing exactly what to make of him.

“It’s nice to meet you too, and your name?”

“Oh, it’s Kathalynn Turner, from Maryland.”

“Kathalynn, that’s different. How did you get that name?”

“From my mother,” I said, wondering how else in the hell he’d thought I gotten my name.?

“Oh, I guess so.” He laughed awkwardly.

Then he looked into my apartment and spotted my trophies from my baton and beauty competitions.

“Wow!” Charlie said. “Nice trophies! Elvis would love to see those!” What on earth was this man getting at??I loved my trophies so much I’d had my parents ship them from

Maryland, hoping they’d give me confidence in my quest for an acting career. But I couldn’t for the life of me gure out why they would be of any interest to Elvis.

“You look a lot like Priscilla,” Charlie continued. “Hey, would you be interested in meeting Elvis?”

Would I what?

“Sure, why not,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant while my heart was doing cartwheels in my throat.

“Great! I’ll come and pick you up Saturday evening around six if that’s okay.”

“That works,” I said with a shrug.?As soon as Charlie was out of sight I slammed the door and ran for

the phone to call my mother.?When she answered, I screamed, “I’m going to meet Elvis!”

“That’s wonderful, Kathalynn. Do you know what time it is on the East Coast? I’m going back to bed. Good night.”

Oops. The time difference.

As promised, Charlie showed up at my door Saturday night. It wasn’t until I saw the crowd of fans clamoring at the gate to Elvis and Priscilla’s Bel Air mansion that it really hit me as to where I was and whom I was about to meet.

“Charlie,” I whispered as we passed through the gate, “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Oh, gosh!” he exclaimed, “Don’t be nervous! You’re going to love Elvis, and he’s just going to love you!”

As we pulled up to the entrance of the house, I panicked and started shaking uncontrollably. Charlie came around, opened the car door, took my hand, and pulled me out. He led me to the huge white doors and rang the bell.

A housekeeper let us in and offered to take my wrap. As I awkwardly handed her my six-dollar shawl, I turned to my right and saw this tall, magni cent gure with blue-black hair and long sideburns moving toward me, wearing a red shirt and black pants. Before I could catch my breath, he took my hand and said, “Hi, I’m Elvis Presley.”

My stomach was double and triple knotting as I forced out, “Hello, I’m Kathalynn Turner, from Maryland.” Like he cares where you’re from, idiot.

“She’s nervous,” Charlie giggled.

did not think it was funny at all. Elvis smiled and squeezed my hand. My stomach twisted into a quadruple knot. Desperately, my mind darted to and fro trying to come up with something to say.

“I’ve loved you since I was a kid.”?“Really?”?“Oh yes! I remember watching teenage girls on a bus one day and think-

ing how jealous I was of them, being old enough to maybe have a chance with you. I was just way too young.” In my efforts to be nonchalant, smart, and unruf ed, I just felt stupid, embarrassed, and pathetic.

Elvis laughed as he took me by the hand and led me to the family room, where a large white sofa positioned itself along a stone wall. Two chairs anked the sofa, with a huge coffee table in front of it. Elvis sat at the end of the couch and motioned for me to take the chair next to him.

Across from the couch a TV was on. A handicapped child appeared on the screen and Elvis became distracted. He pointed and said, “Oh, no! He’s one of those retarded kids.”

The words weren’t exactly P.C., but his tone was sweet and held no judg- ment. I could feel genuine caring radiate from him, which was no doubt one of the secret ingredients in his performance that put his music above the rest.

Elvis was nice to me. Charlie had already briefed him about my tro- phies, so he asked about my history competing in pageants and what my Hollywood ambitions were.

“You’ll make it out here; you have the right look, and clearly you’re talented.”

I tried to play it very cool, but inside I was shaking and daunted sit- ting so close to him.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked politely. “No, thank you,” I stammered. “I don’t drink.”

Elvis smiled. “I didn’t drink when I rst came to Hollywood either. Now I drink Bloody Marys.”

I reached into my purse and pulled out a cigarette. I was fumbling around for my matches when Elvis produced a silver lighter. As I leaned forward to join the tip of my cigarette with the ame, he looked into my eyes. “Do you still think you’re too young?” he asked in a whisper.

My hand started shaking, and Elvis put his hand over it and repeated, “Are you still too young?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

“Maybe you’ve grown up a little,” he said with a laugh.?At that moment Priscilla entered the room. We quickly covered the

awkwardness with some chatter about dance class, their baby, and act- ing. Eventually it was time to go. At the door, Elvis kissed me on the cheek, gave me a wink, and said, “We’ll meet again, I am sure.”

A few days later, around eleven in the evening, there was a knock at my door. I opened it to nd Charlie leaning against the doorframe, smiling.

“I have a friend who wants to see your trophies, if that’s okay with you.”

Then, out of the darkness, Elvis stepped forward and stood in my doorway.

“May I come in?”?I moved aside and let him through, too shocked to say a word.

Charlie then excused himself “to make a phone call.”?Elvis headed straight over to the shelf with all the trophies.

“I just heard so much about these trophies, I had to see them for myself. What’s it like, winning all these?”

“Winning’s fun,” I said. “Losing, not so much.” “It doesn’t look like you lost too often.”

He continued to scan my awards with what appeared to be genuine fascination. In an effort to break the ice, I offered him a Tab.

“How about a Bloody Mary?” he asked. “I don’t have any liquor.” Sorry, Elvis.

I sat down on the couch and forced myself to drink my Tab. Elvis, having had enough of the trophies, came over and sat beside me. My body became so tense I started squeezing the can. Before I crushed it completely, Elvis gently removed it from my hand and placed it on the table. Then he said, “You’re just the kind of woman I’ve always liked.”

I’d never been called a woman before. I wasn’t sure how I liked it.

He slid his arm around me and started moving his hand up my back and through my hair. My body erupted into goose bumps, and suddenly I was freezing. He squeezed me tighter and went in for a kiss.

At rst it felt warm and soft, but then our teeth clashed together, sort of killing the moment. I pulled my head back. He tried for a second time, and I literally froze. My lips involuntarily sealed themselves shut.

Sensing my terror, he whispered in my ear, “I really like you.”

I wouldn’t let my mouth open for fear “I love you” would slip out. My mind was reeling. Everything was happening so fast, yet it felt like slow motion.

He glided his warm hand down to the nape of my neck and began caressing it with his ngers. Goosebumps rose all over my body. At that point my anxiety turned to utter panic. I looked down at my black-and- white polka-dot pajamas. I was hardly dressed for a night with “The King.” My thoughts then turned to my abby stomach and small breasts. This should not be happening!

Gently Elvis turned my face toward his. He leaned over me slowly, looked into my eyes, and pressed his lips to mine. Desire took over, and I kissed him back.

Our lips played and our tongues danced for a blissful few seconds, until our teeth clashed again, snapping me back into reality.

I became awkward, uncomfortable, and self-conscious. I was just way too painfully aware of who he was to possibly relax in that way. Accepting that this was not going to happen, Elvis released his grip on me and sat back.

“I understand. You’re a nice girl. Please don’t hold this against me.” “Never,” I said. “It’s okay.”?“Well,” he said as he got up from the couch. “I’m glad I got to see your

trophies, and I wish you all the best in Hollywood. You’re a good girl, but be careful out here. A lot of guys will try to take advantage of you.”

He ashed me that signature Elvis Presley smile, the one that cocked up one side of his mouth.

Elvis left and I stood by the door, letting everything sink in. At rst I wanted to bang my head against the wall. What the fuck is wrong with you?

I went to the mirror and surveyed the childlike face staring back at me. I’d never considered myself beautiful, and, being petite, I was a far cry from the popular tall, wai sh, stunning blond models like Twiggy, Jean Shrimpton, Pattie Boyd, and Lauren Hutton. I wondered what could possibly have attracted Elvis to me.

Maybe there really was something in me that intrigued people. From beauty pageant judges to Elvis Presley, they seemed to be drawn to me, despite my having, in my opinion, a mediocre appearance. Either that or maybe it was just a wish on a star coming true at last.

Over the following three years in Hollywood, plenty of men tried to take advantage of me, just as Elvis had cautioned. As I re ected on it all, I became aware that an intuitive voice had guided me that night with Elvis, as it had done on so many other occasions and would continue to do.

I saw Elvis only once after that. It was in Las Vegas, at Nancy Sinatra’s show. He was with Priscilla, and I went over to say hello. Priscilla asked me to give her love to our friends at the dance studio when I got back to L.A.

Elvis smiled and winked at me as he said, “Please give my love to everyone too.”

In the years that followed when I told this story, people would ask if I regretted not sleeping with him. My of cial answer, of course, was, “No, I don’t regret it! He was a married man, and I didn’t even know him!”

But in reality? Hell, yes, I regretted it! He was Elvis! view abbreviated excerpt only...

Recommended to book clubs by 0 of 0 members.