Marilyn could feel the moment in which the young actress and the agent were looking at each other complicity. It was how those lovers in romantic movies look at each other with a sad and stunning soundtrack playing in the background. It was how two people who feel something for one another even though they tried to hide it look at each other, coming to the scene in which they cannot take it any longer and give in to passion and what the heart dictates. Richard stroked Pam’s dyed black hair. Pam let herself be loved and finally, their lips met. It was a sweet kiss, romantic and awaited, long-awaited, but Richard pulled away briskly. Pam looked at him, eyes opened wide, not knowing what had happened and Marilyn’s jaw dropped, stunned by what she had just seen.
“I’m sorry, Pam… I can’t. Really, I’m sorry,” Richard apologized, standing up from his chair.
“Wait, Richard. Don’t worry, it’s okay,” Pam told him, demonstrating her maturity and reasonableness.
“Really? It was so far from a professional thing to do,” Richard complained, looking fixedly at the face that reminded him so much of his mother.
“Of course. It’s as if nothing happened, okay?”
“Okay.”
Richard put his hand out for Pam to shake as if they were simply sealing a deal. Marilyn turned back to focus on Will Smith and his modern weapon and the scene was forgotten between the four walls of Pam’s new home.
Pam gathered her courage to return to Gettysburg in a rented car. Thirty-six is the number of hours it would take them to cross Arizona, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Missouri, Indiana and Ohio to reach Pennsylvania. Marilyn warned her she was not a good co-pilot due to her car sickness.
“Marilyn… Can spirits get dizzy?” Pam asked, laughing.
Richard bid Pam farewell in a manner that was much too fraternal, something that made the young woman think that perhaps what the agent felt for her was nothing more than the fondness he might feel for a sister.
“Be careful on the road, artist. I want you back safe and sound,” he had said, tapping her shoulder. The truth was he was only hiding his desire to try her lips again, to once again receive an intense and amorous look from his actress and stroke her stunning hair that had returned to its shining natural blond.
Once on the road, Marilyn continued her desire to ensure that Pam was taking her love life and professional career down the right path.
“No politicians. Forget politicians because they only spell trouble. I can tell you that…” the ghost told her while they crossed a desert road in Arizona. “And about actors, well, you can flirt with them. They love actresses constantly telling them how handsome they are and how well they do everything. You can collect them, but don’t fall in love, they are too self-centered. Writers? Too solitary. Musicians, I don’t recommend because they have an endless line of fans and they are very arrogant.”
“And what is left for me, Marilyn?” Pam interrupted, laughing.
“Richard…” Marilyn sighed.
“Agents? No thank you.”
“And that kiss? That was a movie kiss! I saw it.”
“No, Marilyn. It was a mistake. Richard pulled away, he doesn’t feel anything for me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Pam.”
“No, it’s better this way, Marilyn. Also, we wouldn’t even make a nice couple.”
“I think you would look cute,” Marilyn teased. “Did Arthur and I look good together? No! But he had a brilliant mind. That was what attracted me to him.”
“Arthur Miller?” Marilyn nodded. “Were you in love with him?” Pam wanted to know.
“I don’t think so, but he made me feel safe. I always looked for that in a man… my mistake.”
“Mistake? Why? Pam asked, stopping at a gas station to refuel.
“When I fell in love with your grandfather, I didn’t know what I wanted in a man. That’s the best, not expecting anything of anyone, to not have an ideal of a man. I think that knowing too much about love corrupts. The best thing is to let yourself to taken along. Yes, that’s it, to be taken along.”
“You contradict yourself, Marilyn. A lot!” Pam complained. “To let yourself be taken along means not thinking about the job of the person you fall in love with. We are not professions, we are people.”
“Well, but I’ve already mentioned professions that are not recommendable. From there, uncomfortable or dangerous situations can be avoided, you understand? Why risk oneself? Why suffer?”
Pam was no longer listening. Focused on filling the tank, she could only think about the hours ahead it would take to get to her town. It had been so long since she last went. But finally she could go with her head held high and with the assurance that her parents and everyone that had not supported her could finally feel proud of her.
The following hours were spent talking about Will Smith and his films. The good thing about having a ghost passenger is that it does not sleep and keeps the conversation flowing, Pam thought. Pam and her ghost stopped to sleep in a small hostel in the arid area of Albuquerque. Marilyn’s face was a poem.
“Mother of God, Pam. This looks like a Hitchcock movie, the Psychosis one.”
“Don’t tell me that before I shower, Marilyn.”
“I’ll keep watch and if I see anything funny, I’ll let you know. The guy at the reception gave me a funny feeling. You shower in peace knowing that I’m here, attentive to everything.”
Pam showered and when she emerged, she saw Marilyn sat on the edge of the bed, pensive.
“What’s wrong? Are you nervous about seeing my grandfather?” Pam asked, drying her hair with a towel.
“No, no, I was thinking about Hitchcock. What happened to him?”
“He died. In 1980 I think.”
“Also old,” Marilyn answered, head down. “Did you know that he refused to give me an Oscar? He was a strange man and he liked annoying jokes, of very bad taste. He never liked me, you know?”
“Marilyn, we can’t be liked be everyone.”
“I know, I know. But the Hitchcock thing hurt me. Why did he like Ingrid Bergman and not me? Have you seen the movie Spellbound? It was the first film Ingrid shot with Hitchcock, I liked it a lot. He also adored Grace Kelly. Grace… Who wouldn’t love that woman? And you know the best thing of all?”
“No.”
“They’re all dead, Pam.”
“I guess, otherwise they would be very, very old. Where are you going with this, Marilyn?”
“I went first. I was before all of them, but they all ended up like me: in a pine box.”
“Pine?”
“Yes. Life ends, Pam. For everyone. With more or less success, all these people are remembered for their work. This work can still be seen on a television screen. They did great things but their lives? Were they happy? That is what really matters, Pam. Not what people we do not know remember of us. The important thing is that we remain present in the memories of those we really love.”
“Well, in a few hours we will know how much you remain in the memory of my grandpa.”
“What if he doesn’t remember me, Pam?”
“Of course he will remember you! He’s old but he has a good memory.”
“I’ve always been very insecure,” Marilyn admitted. “It was something I didn’t want to admit or let show. I never liked showing my weaknesses. I hid them behind a good hair-do, spectacular makeup and a splendid wardrobe, previous studied by my advisors. Now, I know that none of that mattered.”
“Marilyn… that happened many years ago.”
“Not for me. For me it was barely a moment ago. And who remembers me for who I really was? No one, Pam. Absolutely no one.”
“Yes Marilyn, I’m sure there is someone who still remembers the real Norma Jean Baker,” Pam answered with confidence, winking at her and giving Marilyn’s spirit the peace it needed at those moments of unrest.
The small town of Gettysburg was just as Pam remembered it. Pam would recall those thirty-plus hours of travel with Marilyn for the rest of her life. The di
va was fun, attentive at all times and she loved to philosophize during the ride. She said it was the first trip she had taken and not gotten carsick.
“Marilyn! You’re a spirit, of course you don’t feel carsick or anything,” Pam laughed.
“Yes, yes, well that might be it,” Marilyn answered gracefully.
Marilyn spoke of the things she liked when she was alive and Pam loved to listen to them. Her favorite color was yellow and she would have to liked to see if black hair suited her, even if it had just been once. She could never tan, Hollywood wanted her to be white-skinned and velvety for which she would never enjoy what she most loved, laying in a hammock with a glass of Dom Perignon, her favorite drink, and letting her skin tan in the sun. She loved to watch the sunset on the beach more than anything in the world, even more than men. She loved the sea! Swimming, walking, running and singing in the shower. She liked to watch the night sky and being lucky enough to make a wish on a shooting star. She liked talking about life and discovering different points of view. She was passionate about the strange topic of time travel, maybe because at many points in her life she would have liked to have gone back and chosen a very different profession, in which her looks were not the most important part of her being. She preferred the golden age of Hollywood to the current world in which she was invisible, despite its gimmicks and its dark secrets. Except for Will Smith, she was a fan, there was no doubt. She enjoyed shaking her voluptuous curves to the rhythm of Elvis Presley with whom she admitted to having had one of the most wonderful affaires of his life with, and she hated being called ‘the blonde bombshell’.
“Bombshell? I wasn’t a bombshell!” she screamed with laughter.
Until the moment she met Pam, Marilyn abhorred the cinema and felt that sitting and watching a film was a waste of time. Yes, it was ironic. Her favorite perfume was Channel number five, but Pam and the rest of humanity already knew that. It was not true that she slept naked, she loved nice flannel pajamas and silk shirts in summer. She really liked to eat and she often started with desert. Why wait to taste the best thing in life? What if you got full before desert? Enjoy it first and the rest would come later! She was afraid of reptiles, she respected cats and she loved dogs. Her favorite scene to film was in the film “The Seven Year Itch” in 1955 when her dress flies when she stands in front of a crack in the subway. She remembered they had filmed in Manhattan, in the streets Lexington and fifty-second street on September 15, 1954 at one in the morning. She admitted she was fearful, insecure and shy.
“You, shy?” Pam said, laughing even more.
“Really, really… Hope I still am.”
She hated being alone, except when she was reading. She liked to smoke in hiding and to sleep twelve hours, even though it was hard to her to fall sleep. Something she hated almost as much as pills was precisely the fear that led her to often take them uncontrollably. She hated people being false, something she could spot from afar but preferred not to point out. Yes, Marilyn preferred to let people think she was a dumb blonde, but in reality she saw much more than others. She knew how to see through a look, when the person in front of her needed a hug, a word of consolation or just to be listened to. Marilyn liked that sensitivity that characterized her. But being the ‘blonde bombshell’ made that trait of her personality go unnoticed. She regretted having appeared in Playboy magazine, remembering that it was the most uncomfortable photo shoot of her life. And she loved being photographed! Her favorites were, curiously, the candid ones, those photographs in which she was not looking at the camera. She confessed to Pam that in them she could see the essence of her being. She preferred to listen before speaking. Children and fragile people were her weakness, fragile like her… And she had died with the pain of not having been a mother after two painful miscarriages, although that Pam also knew.
“Blonde bombshell, we’re here,” Pam said, tired after many hours behind the wheel, parking the car in front of the humble house of her parents. “First I want to say hi to my parents, and then…”
“We go see Jim,” Marilyn nodded, sighing.
“Grandpa, yes. But be prepared to see him look very different to how you knew him Marilyn.”
“Of course, obviously I know that. Years have gone by for him,” Marilyn smiled sweetly.
Pam and her ghost looked around. The house in which Pam had been raised was small and old. It was located on the outskirts of the town center, and enjoyed privileged views of the mountains. From the backyard, they had access to the farm where at that time Pam’s father was working.
When she heard the sound of the car motor, Norma, Pam’s mother, came out to greet her with open arms. Much time had passed since she had seen her only daughter.
“Pam! Look at you! You’re so thin,” her mother told her, a woman of fifty-something, tall and thin that looked like Pam but wth black hair, just as Marilyn remembered Jim had. Norma’s eyes reminded her of her old flame… blue like the sea, frank and filled with light.
Greg, Pam’s father, quickly finished his chores on the farm to go see his daughter, who was already sat with Norma in the kitchen, drinking coffee.
“How could you think of coming by car, Pam?” he scolded her, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Coffee please, Norma,” he continued, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
Marilyn looked at Pam’s parents from a distance. They did not seem to be very affectionate parents, but she was happy to know that those parents wanted the best for their daughter. Maybe, just like she had told the young actress, they hadn’t supported her like she needed but, they believed it was for her own good. “That’s how parents are,” Marilyn thought, wanting to leave and go the Pam’s grandfather’s house.
“How have you been?” Pam asked, smiling.
“There haven’t been many changes, Pam,” her mother answered. “Boring and monotonous as always. You tell us about you incredible life in Hollywood!” she exclaimed, clapping.
“That you didn’t support at all,” Pam had to remind them to not bite her tongue.
“Darling… it seemed impossible. It seemed…” her father answered, smiling. “But you’ve shown us that nothing is impossible. I congratulate you, I really do.”
“But keep you feet on earth, Pam. It’s a complicated world and you could be up today and down tomorrow, who knows.” Marilyn laughed. Pam was fed up of hearing to keep her feet on the ground, as if she could start levitating at any moment.
“Do I seem any different? No, right? Nothing is wrong, I’m a big girl and I know what I’m doing…”
“Of course, dear, but just in case, it’s just some advice. We don’t know anything about that world,” Norma said, shrugging her shoulders and sitting next to Pam.
“Well, it’s a world like any other. A normal and average job in which you study a script, stand on a set and follow the instructions of a person who is taking on the role of director,” Pam explained, not believing it herself.
No, she did not consider it a normal job. For her, to be in the world of Hollywood was a dream that had been out of her reach not long ago. Only a few were fortunate enough to successfully manage to enter that special world of light and shadows. And she had been one of them. In Gettysburg, next to her parents in the house they had always had and in that precise moment, she realized that the change her life had undergone. Until that moment, she had hardly had time to come back down and react, Marilyn seemed to read her thoughts. Marilyn was the cause of her good luck.
“As if it were so easy,” Greg started to say, stared at by Marilyn. “But when that film is screened, you’ll be famous. Actually, you already are. The whole town knows you were filming that movie with that French actress… I can never remember her name.”
“Marion Cotillard, dad.”
“They’re going crazy. Imagine when we go to the cinema to watch it,” Greg continued, not believing his little girl was rubbing shoulders with the great Hollywood stars.
“Your parents are so cute,” Marilyn said, laughing.
&
nbsp; “And grandpa? How is he?” Pam asked, looking at Marilyn, who was looking carefully at some photographs hung chronologically above the chimney.
“Old Jim is as always. Tough and strong,” Greg answered.
“One of these days he’s going upset us, daughter. He insists on forcing his body when he knows perfectly well that he should live a quiet life. He still goes to the orchard at eighty-nine and chops the firewood himself,” Norma explained.
Marilyn laughed joyfully at Norma’s comment, remembering old times in which Jim treated her like a queen. He never let her make any kind of effort, not even to pull out a chair. He was always such a gentleman and was so hardworking, always so perfect.
“Well, I’m going to go see him for a bit,” Pam said, finishing her coffee and standing up. “I’ll be back later.”
“Whenever you like,” Greg said, ready to go back to his work on the farm.
Marilyn followed Pam, who instead of taking the car decided to walk to her grandfather’s house. Four blocks away, they stopped in front of the porch on which Jim sat with a glass of lemonade. Marilyn opened her beautiful, droopy eyes wide. She saw in that old skin punished by the passing years, the same splendid smile he had always given her. His blue yes had gotten smaller and wrinkled, but they had not lost that special shine of long ago. His nose and ears seemed bigger and the black mane that shone in his youth had given way to indomitable gray hairs. Marilyn wondered how she would have looked as an elderly woman, and she was filled with regret. Jim stood up, happy to see his granddaughter. He seemed shorter and more fragile, but he still had a wide and strong back covered by a typical checkered shirt of a woodcutter. He hobbled a little and finally, when he was in front of Pam, he hugged her. It was a moving hug between grandfather and granddaughter. Sweet and strong, as he had always hugged Marilyn, Norma, the woman only he had known. There was still a glimmer of hope that there was still someone in the world who remembered how she was and not who she was.
“Would you like a lemonade, my dear?” Pam’s grandfather asked, smiling.
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