1970. Elvis is abused by his manager, Colonel Parker. He’s manipulated into staying and performing at the International Hotel in Las Vegas, for minimal pay. His manager pays a doctor to give him drugs to continue performing.

Elvis is known to be a ladies man. He always has been, the heartthrob that everyone wanted. He kisses girls during his concerts, he sleeps with them in hotel rooms. And now, in 1970, he's still a ladies man; just more mature. He’s aged, like fine wine.

His bright two-piece suits had become caped, bedazzled, jumpsuits. His hair had become longer and no longer as oppressively gelled back, and thick sideburns sat on his cheeks. He found himself working harder to stay fit, as he was now working against the ticking time bomb known as middle age.

Elvis stands on stage in the International Hotel for the second year in a row as the golden curtains close, separating him from the general audience. His chest heaves from exertion, and sweat coats his skin, hair, and suit. His eyeliner is blurred due to the sweat. His ‘doctor’ had given him pills that helped energize him, and he didn’t think much of it. He takes a sip of vodka, the glass on the piano.

Elvis’ vision blurs, and the one piano becomes two, then four. He stumbles a bit. It doesn’t even cross his mind that he endangered himself by mixing unknown drugs and alcohol. The next thing he knows, he’s on the floor, ears ringing, chest tight, and muffled voices calling for 9-1-1.