by Colin Clark
‘At Parkside? What the hell are you doing at Parkside? Have the servants threatened to walk out? Are you going to cook Miss Monroe ’s dinner?’
‘Not exactly . . .’ I was stuck. I couldn’t say that Marilyn was giving me messages for Olivier. Tony would have insisted that they should go via him. And he would certainly have rung Milton Greene and reported the situation immediately. I felt I was getting on really well with Marilyn, and I did not want Milton turning up to protect his investment – which he would have done at the speed of light.
‘Miss Monroe has some large packages . . .’ to my horror I saw Marilyn come back into the room. I made an agonised face. ‘. . . which she wants to be sent to America . . .’ Marilyn started to giggle. ‘. . . and I am waiting to collect them.’
‘Can’t Roger handle it?’ Tony asked, just as Milton had two days earlier. ‘Oh well, if you’re stuck, you’re stuck. She keeps everyone waiting. I’ll explain to Anne,’ and he hung up, grumbling.
‘Now, Colin,’ said Marilyn, sitting down on the sofa again. ‘What is going on?’
Oh, all right then, what the hell!
‘I’ll tell you what is going on,’ I said, going back to my armchair: ‘We are all trying to make a film which absolutely should not be made. That is why it is such agony for everyone. Agony for you – we can all see that – and agony for Laurence Olivier too. You are a great film star who needs to prove that you can act. Olivier is a great actor who wants to be a film star. For some reason somebody has chosen a script where you play an American chorus girl, which is the sort of part you’ve played before and does not challenge you at all, and Olivier plays a stuffy old man, which is the opposite of what he wants to be. The whole thing is based on a play which I saw a few years ago in the theatre, with Olivier and Vivien Leigh, and it wasn’t that good even then. It was a comedy of manners, and those never translate too well to the screen. I suppose somebody hoped it would be like one of those Spencer Tracy-Katharine Hepburn movies, but our script is stifled by all that old-fashioned dialogue, and all the costumes and the sets. It’s such a pity, because you and Olivier both deserve roles you can get your teeth into.’
Marilyn was staring at me with surprise.
‘They told me this was a great script – and I wanted to act with Olivier, so people would take me seriously. This was the only way to get him to agree to act with me.’
‘Well, I think you were taken for a ride.’
‘Gee, Colin, you really care, don’t you? What are we going to do?’
This was, of course, the question which all of us had been asking ourselves ever since filming began, and I didn’t have the answer any more than anyone else. Luckily I was saved from having to reply by the entrance of Maria and José, each carrying a large silver tray. They did not seem the least bit surprised to see me sitting there, which rather reassured me. They simply set down the food on the coffee table and waited.
‘I’ll have a Coke,’ said Marilyn.
José looked at me.
‘Duas Colas. Frescos se fash favor.’
‘Ooh, do you speak the same language as them?’ Marilyn was greatly impressed.
‘It ’s Portuguese. I’ve been to Portugal a few times.’
‘Ooh.’
There was a pause.
I looked at Marilyn across the table – and for the first time I realised what was going on. Marilyn was lonely. She needed someone to chat to, someone who would make no demands, someone who didn’t expect her to be great or grand or clever or sexy, but just to be whatever she felt she wanted to be. Most of the time, I suddenly realised, she was incredibly tense. It was almost impossible for her to relax. Now, because I was so much younger than her, she felt that I would not judge her, and she probably wouldn’t care if I did.
Marilyn began to tuck into a large bowl of chicken mayonnaise, and it was obvious that she was extremely hungry. Those pills of hers probably suppress her appetite, I thought, as well as wake her up. Since she slept so late in the morning, this might well be her first meal of the day.
José returned with four bottles of Coca-Cola, two glasses and a bowl of ice.
‘Obrigado,’ I said.
‘Ooh,’ said Marilyn. She seemed to get more cheerful with each mouthful of food. ‘Why couldn’t you tell Mr Bushell you were here on a visit? What would he say?’
‘He would explode, and kick me out of his house. He ’s a wonderful man, really, but he ’s totally blinded by his loyalty to Sir Laurence. If you are not 100 per cent loyal to Sir Laurence – as most of the film crew are, I must admit – you are the enemy as far as Mr Bushell is concerned.’
Marilyn chuckled. ‘So I’m the enemy, am I? Well, don’t worry, I won’t give you away. After all, it’s not as if we were having an affair.’ More chuckles. ‘But what are we going to do about the film?’
‘There is nothing that can be done at this stage. It ’s too late to do anything but try to finish it, and make it as big a success as possible. Then go on to something better, I guess.’
‘I thought I could do a great job,’ said Marilyn, ‘but every time I walk into that studio I get the creeps. Paula is the only person I feel I can trust. Except for you, maybe?’
She swivelled her body round on the sofa until her face was beneath mine, and looked up at me. Her eyes were so wide that I felt I was gazing down into a beautiful swimming pool, but before I could do anything about it there was a tap at the door, and someone walked in.
‘Yeah?’ said Marilyn, without moving a muscle.
‘There is a telephone call for you, ma’am,’ said Roger impassively. ‘I think it is from abroad.’
Marilyn got up with a jolt.
‘Gee,’ she said. That vague blurred look was back in her eyes, and her shoulders had curved in. ‘Well, goodnight, Colin. It was so nice of you to come over. I’d love it if you could come by tomorrow evening so we could continue our chat.’ She shot out of the room like a frightened rabbit.
‘You’ll be leaving now, I expect,’ said Roger, waiting by the door.
‘Yes. Time to go,’ I said, as nonchalantly as I could, and strolled out to my car without my feet touching the ground, as far as I could tell.
‘Goodnight, Roger.’
‘Humph.’
FRIDAY, 14 SEPTEMBER
Tony and Anne were asleep by the time I got back to Runnymede House, and I left before they woke up the next morning. It was not until 9.30 a.m. that the reverberations from the previous night began in earnest.
‘Tony wants you to go to Sir Laurence’s dressing room right away,’ said David. ‘And by the way he ’s roaring and stamping, you’d better brace yourself for a row. What were you up to last night, I wonder.’
‘Nothing, I promise you. I can’t think what it ’s about. I just missed dinner, that ’s all.’
‘Ah, now. Missed dinner.’ David squeezed up his face in an effort to look cunning. ‘I wonder why?’
‘I don’t care if he is fucking her sideways,’ I heard Olivier say as I walked into his room. ‘Perhaps it will calm her down.’
(Olivier’s language is always terrible. Jack Cardiff told me that when he first said ‘fuck’ in front of Marilyn, she opened her eyes very wide and said, ‘Gee, do they have that word in England too?’)
‘Ah, Colin,’ Olivier went on, without a pause. ‘Tony tells me you spent last night with Marilyn. Did you learn anything?’
‘Spent last night with Marilyn!’ I said indignantly. ‘I spent last night in Tony’s house. I just went over to Parkside to do an errand for her, and stayed for a chat. And what I learned is that she is not nearly as dumb as she looks.’
‘And dinner,’ interrupted Tony. ‘You stayed for dinner too?’
‘Marilyn was having chicken salad and she offered me some too, that ’s all.’
‘What is more, I thought I heard her chuckle when you were on the phone. Marilyn doesn’t usually chuckle. What was that all about?’
‘Chuckling sounds good to me,’ said Ol
ivier.
‘Yes, but Larry, this is a very sensitive situation,’ said Tony. ‘Colin is young and inexperienced. He might say something which would upset the whole apple cart. It took a year of secret planning to get Monroe over here, and one chance remark from Colin, even if he didn’t know what he was doing, might send her and Arthur scurrying back to America.’
‘Arthur’s probably on his way back to America already,’ I said. ‘And I haven’t made any chance remarks yet.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Olivier, ‘if Colin is as nice and diplomatic as he can possibly be, Marilyn will be more likely to stay.’ He gave me what looked almost like a leer.
‘Miss Monroe simply treats me like a chum. Is there anything wrong with that?’ I protested. ‘She thinks I’m just a schoolboy.’
‘Miss Monroe can be very manipulative if she wants to be,’ said Tony. ‘She had Laurence eating out of the palm of her hand in New York, and now she treats him as if he didn’t exist. You must be very careful indeed, Colin. She is a very dangerous lady. Very ambitious, and very ruthless too. You know she had another dramatic coach before Paula Strasberg, and when she got fed up with her she just dropped her like a hot potato – after pretending that she relied on her for many years. She is not afraid to use people in order to get what she wants. Don’t believe anything she says. Those great big eyes are really weapons.’
Was Tony afraid that I’d upset Marilyn, or that Marilyn would hurt me?
‘I don’t exactly see how she could use me to further her career,’ I said. ‘I don’t have any power over her one way or another. I just go over to Parkside to run errands. But I think last night she was lonely, with Arthur gone away, and she simply wanted to chat to someone who didn’t boss her around. Paula is too sycophantic, and Hedda gets tipsy in the evenings. Anyway, I’ll probably never get invited over again.’
‘Well if you do, be very careful,’ chorused the two men.
‘And I presume you will be coming back to Runnymede House for dinner tonight,’ added Tony, menacingly.
Somewhere in my mind I could hear Marilyn’s voice saying, ‘I’d love it if you could come by tomorrow evening,’ as she had rushed to answer the phone, but she was probably only being polite.
‘I’ll be back for dinner tonight, I promise.’
Film sets are like pressure cookers – sealed, airless and incredibly hot. There are endless unexplained delays. Rumours go round the crew in a matter of seconds. By the time I got back to my normal post by David ’s side, I had become the main object of attention again.
‘Arthur hasn’t been gone long then, Colin,’ somebody called.
‘What are you talking about?’ I said, blushing furiously.
‘Mrs Miller coming in today, is she? Or is she too tired?’
A chorus of cheers.
‘Can’t Marilyn show a little friendship without you clowns jumping to conclusions?’
‘Oh, it ’s “Marilyn” now, is it?’
‘That ’s the first time I’ve heard it called “showing a little friendship”.’ Etc. etc.
Richard Wattis, the actor who is playing Mr Northbrook of the Foreign Office, came over to give me some advice. Dicky is what you might call a confirmed bachelor, so I could guess what he was going to say.
‘Have you heard of a flower called the Venus fly trap, Colin? Well, you are the fly. You think you can just buzz around, minding your own business, when suddenly a heady scent attracts you, and “Snap!” that’s the end of you. Believe me, she is a very dangerous woman. I’m an actor. I know.’
‘Oh, phooey to the lot of you,’ I said. ‘She is just a pretty girl who has got a bit out of her depth. Just imagine the pressure she is under, especially with you lot following her every move.’
‘Give Marilyn a break,’ said Jack Cardiff, coming to my rescue again. ‘She’s doing the best she can. You are all far too quick to gang up against her. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever photographed,’ he said to me. ‘And a very lovely person too.’
Finally, Olivier walked in, and everyone shut up and began to work.
As soon as we broke for lunch, however, it was Milton Greene ’s turn. For the first time he was waiting for me, rather than for Olivier, in the dressing-room corridor.
‘Colin, I must talk to you very seriously.’
‘Oh, goodness, not now, Milton. Sir Laurence is getting awfully irritated by all this. What on earth is the matter? I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘I had a call from Arthur Miller in Paris last night. He was quite upset.’
‘Arthur Miller! He doesn’t even know who I am.’
‘He does now. It seems he called Marilyn late last night, and she took a long time to come to the phone. When he asked her why, she said she had been saying goodbye to you.’
‘Oh, she is naughty. I suppose she was cross with him for going away and decided to make him jealous. It wasn’t late, it was about nine o’clock.’
‘Ten-thirty, according to Arthur.’
How time had flown, to be sure.
‘He ’s on French time. They’re one hour ahead,’ I said, thinking fast.
‘That ’s not the point,’ said Milton. ‘Arthur wanted to know what you were doing there at all. And I couldn’t tell him. What were you doing there? Tell me the truth.’
‘I wasn’t doing anything! Such a lot of fuss over absolutely nothing. Miss Monroe asked me to come over so she could give me a message for Sir Laurence. She kept me waiting for an hour or so, then she offered me some chicken salad, and then I left. That ’s all.’
‘And what was Miss Monroe ’s important message for Sir Laurence which you had to deliver?’
‘Well, it was just that she wasn’t coming to the studio today.’ It did sound a little lame.
‘Something that Olivier already knew, right? In fact, it was Sir Laurence who told Marilyn that she needn’t come in.’
‘Well, er, yes. That ’s true, I suppose. I thought it was a little odd.’
‘Thought? You didn’t think at all, did you? If you’d “thought”, you would have realised that you can’t even go near someone as important as Marilyn Monroe without upsetting someone else. In this case, her husband. And me.’
Milton suddenly got friendly.
‘Now, Colin, please don’t go over to see Marilyn again. Or even talk to her without informing me first. She is completely, totally, off-limits to you and everyone else on the crew. Got that? I like you, Colin, but if this happens again I’ll have to tell Sir Laurence that you must be banned from the studios completely. Sorry, but that’s the way it is. I’m going over to have dinner with Marilyn myself this evening, and I’ll explain the situation to her, so you don’t need to call on her. She told Arthur that she might see you again tonight, and clearly that must not happen, tonight or any other night. OK?’
‘OK, Milton. But I still think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.’
It had been fun while it lasted, but I did not want to lose my job. Nothing had happened, but I felt desperately sorry for Marilyn. The poor lady was completely trapped by her own fame. An innocent from California, trapped by all those crafty New Yorkers – a golden goose shut in a golden cage and forced to lay golden eggs for them all to enjoy. Arthur was the wicked king who kept her locked up in his castle. Milton was the magician who made sure she did what she was told. Paula was the corrupt courtier who poured endless soothing words into her ears, to fool her into thinking that she was really the one with the power. The rest of us – including Olivier, although he didn’t realise it – were just part of the scenery. All the trappings of being a great star were a total sham – literally, in the case of this film, nothing but a façade. Now the princess had tried to tell the world she was a prisoner. That was the real message Marilyn wanted to give me. And, naturally, that was exactly what all those greedy men did not want anyone to find out. No wonder Milton had tried so hard to warn me off.
I wanted desperately to save her, but what could I do? I couldn�
�t tell the police. I couldn’t tell a newspaper. No showbiz journalist would want to believe me – and anyway, they were all in on the plot. They were much too frightened of the establishment to rock the boat. Marilyn was like a prize cow, to be shipped from show to show, primped and polished and prodded while the audiences jeered and cheered. If she took one tiny step of independence, the sky would fall in. ‘She is a dangerous, manipulative woman,’ they would say, like Tony. ‘You can’t trust her an inch.’
Olivier was still in his dressing room when Milton left, and in desperation I decided to try to discuss the problem with him. Olivier is a human being, I thought, a wonderful, loyal and sensible man. Perhaps if I explained the matter properly . . .
‘Forget it, Colin,’ he said before I could even speak. ‘This thing is bigger than all of us. That’s why I hate Hollywood so much. The studios there are so powerful that everyone is scared. It’s just a great big money-making machine. They call it a dream factory. It is a factory; but not about dreams, just about money. Power, sex, glamour – those things just dazzle the public and conceal the truth. And girls like Marilyn are trying to exploit it, just as it is exploiting them. It’s a war. No quarter given on either side. Believe me, you have to be pretty tough to get one tenth of the distance Marilyn has got. Now she has become the most famous star of them all. She took on the Hollywood bosses, and with Milton’s help, she won quite a victory. For a while she even thought she was free. But who really controls her? MCA, the biggest Hollywood agency. Who pays for this film? Warner Brothers. Who does she still have a contract with? Twentieth Century-Fox. She just can’t work without Hollywood’s help and Hollywood’s approval. Of course she’d like to have you as a chum, but it’s too late for that. There are no chums in Hollywood. Just thank God that it isn’t like that over here yet. Now go home to dinner with Tony and Anne. They are genuinely fond of you, you know.’
‘Thanks, Larry,’ I said, and went home with a heavy heart.
SATURDAY, 15 SEPTEMBER
It was an absolutely glorious summer morning, and for once I did not have to get up at six a.m. to go to the studio. When I finally came downstairs, Anne Bushell was in the kitchen preparing lunch. She watched dubiously as I helped myself to cornflakes and milk.