“Not yet. I'm on my way to meet him.”
“And he'll be favorably flabbergasted. You look terrific.”
Brad ran out in front of me to hail a taxicab. I got in the Checker cab I winked, as Brad carefully closed the cab door, smiled gushingly, and tapped on the roof for the driver to take off.
When we pulled up to the White Horse the driver reached behind his seat to open the door for me. Did he think I was Marilyn?
Gray shadows lay flat on the cracked pavement from tall street lamps. Distorted sounds of Nat King Cole singing “Ramblin' Rose,” blared from a car radio. It was a warmish, cloudy night for late October. I stood for several moments outside the White Horse, preoccupied with thoughts strangely enough about Caroline and what she would think about my new get up. “Now, Anna, who is the strange one?” Could she possible say something along those lines? Who cares, I told myself, brushing my hair in place with my fingers, and moistening my lips, before finally sashaying in.
The White Horse was fairly empty. It was still early, and a Monday night. First, the bartender swung a long hard look at me; I smiled for him. Oh, Anna this is your parade today.
Nick and Ethan stood, countenances full of smiles, walked briskly toward me, and grabbed my hands as they escorted me to their table, near the window, facing the wide expanse of Hudson Street. A few heads turned to watch.
“Babe, you look great,” Nick said. “So, you had the guts to do this.”
“You really look good,” Ethan said quietly, shaking his head up and down. “Do we call you Anna or M?”
“Anna is my name,” I said coyly.
“Let's get you a beer, young lady,”Nick went on. He walked over to the bar and ordered a tall cool one.
But in all my sprightliness, it was if my heart stopped for a moment, and my mood swiftly changed from ebullience to fear as I looked at Ethan.
“Wait just a moment, until Nick gets back,” Ethan said. “I haven't told Nick yet.”
I slumped in my chair, when Nick returned and placed a tall glass of cold beer in front of me. “Drink up,” he said.
“I was fired from Esquire.” Ethan shot out. His voice was nervous, and higher pitched than usual. “They gave me four weeks severance pay. I am no longer the art critic for Esquire.” Ethan raised his head and placed his left hand over his mouth breathing out slightly.
Nick starred with a wild expression of disbelief. Ethan's face turned grim, his eyes, downcast, his rosy cheeks paled. Not to say that Ethan ever struck me as a poster boy for effervescence. He was a more serious looking guy, though his curly brown hair and snappy clothes made him sexy in my eyes. Serious and sexy, I thought.
“Ethan I heard the publisher, argued to keep you on, keep a line on you, were his words. So they would know what you’re doing.”
“Where did you hear all this?” Ethan asked. He looked like an injured puppy dog.
I shuddered at the thought of Ethan keeping the information from Nick, even for a few minutes. How painful that must have been. “Office gossip. There are no secrets in our office,” I told him, softly and slowly. “The office rumors were that the Advertising director, was adamant that you go. You might hurt advertising sales, when you start favoring and or helping one artist over another.”
“That's bullshit,” Nick jumped and stood.
I joined Nick instantly, surrounding Ethan and hugging him closely, and I kissed him all over his face and left a long kiss on his lips.
“You're smart guy,” Nick said. “Come on you're a brave guy. You'll hook up soon enough at a new mag or newspaper. Remember, you're an art critic and a damn good one. Let me give you a bear hug, buddy. Always remember, I got your back.”
“You know it's rejection, that's the hardest part to swallow. It is my pride,” Ethan said.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Drink up fella. Let's have fun. Tonight's a night to celebrate,” Nick went on.
“Celebrate? Nick, how insensitive can you be.? Ethan is in pain,” I said.
“Yeah, celebrate. Raise your glasses friends. To Ethan and the new path he takes. You're on a new journey. Explore new possibilities, man. Look, Esquire was good enough to give you four weeks salary for this journey. Now take them on. Okay? To Ethan. Raise your glasses. You show them, kid, who you are.”
When we sat down, I kept watching Ethan's face for a slight hint that Nick's word's might be getting through. He grabbed my hand under the table, rubbing smoothly,
“Do you guys realize I was doing things for an idea … to promote a fresh idea. Not to favor one artist over the other, but for a modern art idea. An opening for the new artists. Trying to make sure they all had platforms for their paintings. They got me all wrong at the mag.”
“Did you tell them that?” I asked.
“Sure. They wouldn't listen. People really don't understand say, Jackson Pollack with his splatters and his drips of paint, or even some of the other artists in the Abstract Expressionist camp. But … “
Ethan was coming alive, with passion for his subject, I squeezed his hand under the table.
Ethan went on. “ … Art lovers relate to an image of Marilyn Monroe, yes,.” Finally a faint smile broke through his lips as he looked at me and nodded. “And Coke bottles, and Soup cans, yes. That's what I was encouraging. A new generation of artists, and galleries, that capture the Pop Art movement, highlight it and make it easy for the public to accept, and get involved.”
As Ethan finished his remarks, folks at the surrounding tables stood and applauded. Ethan turned crimson red. His cheeks now were so flushed. Both Nick and I joined in with the applause, to Ethan's major embarrassment.
We started laughing, and Nick and I broke out in singing, For he's a jolly good fellow. Finally, Ethan relaxed and told us we were the greatest friends he has ever had.
We sat drinking a while longer and then Ethan said, he wants to go home.
I said, “I'll go with you.”
“No. I want to be alone.”
“You shouldn't be alone now. Would you feel better if both Nick and I went back with you?” I pleaded.
“No,” Ethan said lowering his head.
“Hey, we're going with you,” Nick ordered and stood quickly, holding Ethan's arm firmly, and with his muscular swagger dragged Ethan outside. I followed.
Slight drops of rain hit the pavement. I covered my hair with a white scarf and put on dark glasses to the loud whistles of male passersby. I turned and smiled, tossing my head back for the small crowd as we entered the cab. Is this really happening to me, or am I in a dream. Becoming Marilyn Monroe was more complicated than coloring your hair blonde, I was beginning to learn. But it was a hell of a lot better than continuing a life without applause. The more accolades for for me as Monroe, the more I wanted this personae. Though I admit, the picture in my mind was that of a runner, nearing the finish line to the cheers of a waiting crowd. But when she crosses the line, I ask, now what?
“Slide over,” I heard Nick call out as he pushed Ethan in, then took his place near the door. We both sat close to Ethan, holding on to his arms. Although I hoped this would be a celebration of my new Marilyn Monroe image, Ethan was hurting, he had been dumped on, and I had to be there for him.
The driver, a muscular man, with wisps of brown hair turned around. “Where to?” Then in a gasp asked, “Am I really driving Marilyn Monroe?”
“No, buddy, she's dead,” Nick shouted.
I was sorry Nick was abrupt with the driver. I don't know if this was the right way to handle the remark. Everybody must be aware Marilyn Monroe passed away several months ago. The man's rough exterior froze. “Where to?” he asked again.
Nick said, “West Sixty-Seven and Central Park.”
“You got it,” the driver said. “And you Miss, are a gorgeous look a like for Marilyn Monroe.”
“Thank you,” I said.
The driver went on, “It's none of my business, lady. But why are you dressed like this?”
“Because in a way, I am Maril
yn Monroe,” I answered softly. “I truly am. I'm not a painting. I am real. Pinch me and I'll hurt. Tickle me and I'll laugh. I am real.”
The driver didn't look back, and didn't say another word but drove quickly to Ethan's building.
Chapter Ten
Ethan lived in high ceiling, studio apartment, with double height twin windows looking onto Central Park. A king size platform bed, padded in black faux-leather dominated the room. The headboard enclosed a dresser, painted in a glossy black. Grass wallpaper enclosed the room, and an olive colored wall to wall carpet lay on the floor, plush and inviting. One wall opposite the windows contained six large bookcases, with a dark green sofa, and glossy white table, situated between the bookcases. A hi-fi, and huge Altec Lansing speakers sat on the carpeted floors.
Ethan smiled. “The bed. You once asked is the bed for sleeping or playing. I don't remember if I ever answered. For both. Sleeping and playing. Hey, Anna, I'm happy we are all here.” I then got a big hug and big wet kiss from Ethan.
“I'll bet I used this bed more than he did,” Nick said.
“For sleeping or playing?” I asked again.
“Only for playing.” Nick said, as he disappeared to the bathroom. Ethan stretched out on his big bed, looking totally exhausted. He slowly removed his clothes, and remained with only his boxer shorts. I undressed down to my panties and bra, and lay next to him. Ethan turned the music player on from a toggle switch on the side of the platform, and dimmed the lights. The jazzy smooth sounding Mel Tormé came on, singing Stardust Memories. The music comforted as we lay staring at reflections on the ceiling. I felt a chill over my body. “Do you have a bed cover, Ethan?” He pulled out a large white silky sheet and draped it over our bodies.
“It's obvious, isn't it?” Ethan said slowly and softly. I'm a fuck up.”
“Don't … think that. Like Nick said. You're smart. You're no fuck-up. I will add you're cute too.”
“Cute?” Ethan seemed nonplussed.
“Uh huh, you have a great smile, and a tight body.”
“Don't you mean I need some workouts at the gym?”
“No. And, you have a wide ass, that is so sexy.”
“Anna, you are bad.”
I leaned on one elbow, lifted the sheet, and told Ethan, “Well I take it back. It's not a wide ass, it's just the right size.”
Nick suddenly appeared over us,with a joint in his hand. He crouched down on the ledge of the platform bed. “Here, take a hit. It'll do both of you good.” Nick remained staring at us as he handed me the weed. It wasn't a vacant stare, but a quizzical one for a moment, until he blurted, ”Anna. Stay in that pose.” Nick was shaking his head, yes.” You are a dead ringer for Monroe. I mean it. I like it.” I threw my head back slightly and laughed, and then passed the joint to Ethan, who held on, mesmerized by rising smoke.
Meanwhile Nick stripped down to his birthday suit, sans shorts, socks, and joined us in bed, and under the sheet. We were mellowing out, and I was beginning to feel all's good. I switched elbows and tuned to look at Nick. His gaze was relaxed, and Nick finally smiled, like he knew some secret. “Yeah, you're a dead ringer for Marilyn.”
“Stop saying that,” I whispered. This was the first time all three of us were together in bed naked or almost naked. My heart swooned, as I looked at both of them. I wanted their love. That is really what I desired.
Again, Nick was shaking his head, yes and pulling another joint from behind his ear lobe, like cigarette smokers do. He reached over for the lighter and lit up, toking the rolled joint all the while, holding in his breath. As he exhaled he passed the marijuana stick to me. I took a few drags, looked over at Ethan who lay with his hands behind his head, a slight smile on his lips, eyelids closing, like a sleepy cat. Nick kept the joint between his fingers, and began to stare at nothing, again with that vacant look.
I rolled over and kissed Nick, then rolled over and kissed Ethan, hugging him tightly. I was feeling so fine, that we had reached a level as lovers, as friends who respected one an other; that this little exercise didn't turn into a groping fest. That this scene was calm and peaceful, added to my initial feelings of joy. Oh, I am ever the romantic, so hopelessly in love with these two guys, and I want both of them. Could that happen? Could loving and being, and living and loving both become my reality? “Lovers come to me.” My heart exploded with sparks of sheer joy. I looked at Nick and winked.
We locked our eyes into one another and soon enough began giggling, until Nick reached over to stroke my hair. “Ssssh,” he whispered. I leaned over and hugged Nick, remaining in his luscious arms, then turned on my stomach, thinking back to Nick's facial expression, when he looked to me like he had knowledge of a deep dark secret. I remained restless for a while that night, thinking about Nick's glazed over blue eyes, and Ethan's sometimes dreamy big brown eyes, and the unexplored regions of the two guys.
When I woke up suddenly, I noticed Nick was sitting on a chair and looking out the window, peacefully in his own world; Ethan slept. I dozed off and on again, but this time I woke up to an early light coming through the park trees and angling on one wall. Nick was gone. I did a bathroom run, washed quickly and dressed. Before I left I wrote Ethan a note. “Went home to shower, change clothes etc. for work. We're here for you Ethan. We should repeat our slumber party very soon. I'll bring a change of clothes. Love, Anna”
We did the sleep over with Ethan several more times; yes I had left several outfits at Ethan's place.
My desire to be with both guys in a loving, intimate and sexual nature steadily increased; friendship, and sex were consistent in our relationship, as well as pot smoking, and music.
But a lifestyle I yearned for, always to be together as one family wasn't even a flicker in the guys' psyches; or so I thought. I wouldn't push the idea yet, believing a free-love lifestyle must emerge from within. Then I took to thinking, if the idea never presented itself to Ethan and Nick and they need a little push, well why shouldn't I push, lightly.
What's more by this time I was fairly at ease in fitting into my Marilyn Monroe identity. Although I couldn't see my walk, I imagined I strutted like Monroe, angled my head like Monroe, spoke in a breathy type of way like Monroe, looked liked Marilyn Monroe and never once was I self conscious about affecting this personae. Nick and Ethan rarely mentioned anything about my new identity. I believe they took it for granted that she, that is Marilyn, is me.
When I was a child, I remembered, Andy Warhol and I would pursue new identities – those of Hollywood stars. Andy's biggest lure as I remembered was touching those glossy photographs of the stars that they handed us in movie theaters. I believe he always wanted fame, to be idolized like a Hollywood star, to be adored and through adoration to be loved.
I want to be Marilyn now, not the star, not the actress, and celebrity, but the person. As for love, I didn't need the world's admiration, I had Ethan and Nick. And besides, the guys could penetrate me with physical love, caring, caressing, hugging, touching, which fame and admiration never can yield.
Ethan by the way got a job with the East Village Other, a downtown alternative newspaper, but moaned to us, “I'm not sure about the downtown newspaper scene.” Nick buoyed his spirits, saying, “Hey buddy, it's a step, and you will move from there.” Advice Ethan took seriously as we found out later this evening that he was in the running for Art Critic position at Art Mirror, a new start-up magazine. “I think I nailed the interview with these people,” Ethan told us, as we grabbed a bite to eat, once again at the Automate on East Forty-Second.
We were on our way to the United Artists private screening room on Seventh Avenue. A special invitation that Nick secured to see Dr. No, a James Bond flick from the Ian Fleming novels, with Sean Connery and Ursula Andress. The boys admired Sean Connery. “His accent,” said Ethan,” is great. He oozes masculinity.” And his foxy way with thee ladies,”Nick offered. I said that Ursula Andress looked ravishing, and, “has the classic good looks of a Greek goddess.”
We'd actually seen several great films, so far this year. Nick got us invited to the screenings. Jules et Jim, the Truffaut film, David and Lisa, A Kind of Loving, Knife in the Water. Wheeww. Film evenings were followed by forays into the Village music scene, or art gallery shows, and then to bed time which was mostly at three or four in the morning; home to one of guy's pads for some playing around. Though oftentimes with Nick, few times with Ethan, but not as yet as a threesome.
Earlier tonight we were at Gerde's Folk City on West Fourth and Mercer in the Village. Ethan told us Bob Dylan would make a surprise visit, late that evening. So after Dr. No, a few rounds at the White Horse, and a visit to Manny Roth's Cafe Wha?, whom Ethan had befriended, we settled at Gerde's. The three of us stood against a wall, with of course Beer Bottles in hand, talking, jovially. So far it was a fun evening. Nick said,
Blissful Interlude: J. G. ROTHBERG Page 9