by Colin Clark
‘Maybe we can go over there one day. Then Marilyn and I went out to lunch – always with Roger by our side – and then we went to look at my old school. Marilyn was more interested in culture than romance.’
‘And then you went for a swim. She said you went for a swim, and kissed in the water.’
Poor Marilyn, I thought. She’s like a little girl. Why does she tell Milton everything, as if he was her father? ‘Daddy, Daddy, I kissed Colin.’ She’s trying to rebel, I suppose.
‘Well, she’s home now,’ I said, ‘safe and sound. Perhaps a little fresh air and exercise will have done her good. I hope Sir Laurence realises that I’ve been working hard for him all weekend. We’ve still got a film to make.’
‘Marilyn had forgotten that she’d promised to go over her lines with Paula Strasberg this afternoon, so they’re doing that now. Paula said Marilyn was very nervous, and asked for some pills.’
‘Pills? What the hell does she need pills for?’
‘Colin, you don’t understand.’
‘I understand, all right. She’s scared – of Paula and you, as well as Olivier. You’re all meant to be working with her, not against her. And I think she’s hooked on those pills. She can never be herself. None of you want her to be herself. You want her to be “Marilyn Monroe, Hollywood sex goddess”, because that’s where the money is. Just imagine how difficult it is for her. Even in the movie, she can’t be “Elsie Marina, the showgirl” – she has to be “Marilyn Monroe, the Hollywood sex goddess, acting Elsie Marina, the showgirl”. That’s why she has such difficulty with her part, and can’t remember her lines. Underneath it all she’s just a lonely, simple child, who deserves to be happy, just like any child. But you lot stretch her until she’s about to break. And one day she will break, and where will you be then? Long gone, and making a fuss of someone else, I’ll bet.’
‘Hey – so you are in love with her, Colin!’
I could only groan.
To do him justice, Milton seemed genuinely upset by my attack on his motives. He paced up and down that beautiful island on the Thames just as King John must have paced over seven hundred years ago, and told me the whole history of his relationship with Marilyn. After their short affair they had become friends. Marilyn was a victim of the old studio system, whereby actors got trapped in long-term contracts from which they could never escape, no matter how famous they became. The studios would dictate the roles they played, ruthlessly typecasting them to exploit their fame. The studios squeezed every possible dollar out of their films, while still paying the star the tiny salary they had originally signed for. Milton had persuaded Marilyn to rebel. By clever manipulation, and with the help of his lawyer friend Irving Stein, Milton had enabled Marilyn to escape from her contract with Twentieth Century-Fox, and to ensure that when she re-signed it – not even Marilyn, it seems, can operate without a contract – it was on much better terms. From then on Marilyn could decide which films she did or didn’t make, and even make a film entirely on her own. The Prince and the Showgirl was the first film being made by Marilyn Monroe Productions, of which Milton was an equal partner.
‘Well, not quite equal, Colin,’ Milton admitted. ‘Fifty-one per cent to her, and 49 per cent to me. But heck, 49 per cent of Marilyn Monroe can’t be bad, can it?’
‘I’d like 1 per cent,’ I said.
Milton grinned ruefully.
‘Marilyn’s hard to pin down. It’s like owning 49 per cent of a dream. It doesn’t mean very much. I think you do own 1 per cent of her right now, Colin, and it’s probably worth more than my 49 per cent. The trouble is, for how long?’
Milton suddenly sat down on the grass and put his head in his hands. ‘I’m not sure I can go on for much longer, but I’ve got no choice. I’ve got every single penny I ever earned invested in Marilyn, and she simply doesn’t understand what that means. I’ve been paying her living expenses for over a year now – her apartment, her staff, her shopping, her doctors – it adds up to thousands of dollars. Twentieth Century-Fox won’t release any money until she starts working for them again, so I have to pay. Don’t get me wrong. Marilyn doesn’t ask for lots of cash; she just never gives it a thought. She’s not interested in money, actually. She’s only interested in her career. But she loves to be generous, and that can cost a lot. And Arthur needs money, and Lee Strasberg needs money, and they both treat Marilyn like a bank. Now, Warner Brothers have put up the cash for this film, but when I start taking some of my investment back, Marilyn thinks I’m swindling her. I’m sure she’s been put up to that by Arthur. He’s definitely not on my side, Colin. He’s looking out for himself. But Marilyn worships him, you know.’
‘I certainly don’t worship him,’ I said. ‘I think he’s too vain. I don’t think he loves Marilyn as much as she thinks, either. Not in the way she deserves to be loved, anyway.’
‘You’re right. He’s a bigger damn prima donna than she is. Now he’s behaving like he’d had some awful surprise. He must already have known what life with Marilyn would be like. When he first met her she was Elia Kazan’s mistress, and she was very mixed up. Then he saw her when she was filming Bus Stop with Josh Logan. She’d phone him for hours on end, and it can’t have been hard to see how nervous she got when she had to give a performance. I think he just liked the image of himself as the man who captured the most famous woman in the world. It made him as famous as her. He wants to control her, and that makes him try to turn her against me. And now he’s gone running off to Paris, and from there he’s going to New York, as if he was fed up with Marilyn after only four weeks. I’d much rather Marilyn ran off with you, believe me.’
‘Me too. But that’s not going to happen, Milton, I can assure you, so you can relax.’
‘Paula’s after Marilyn’s money too. Well, it’s not really Paula, it’s Lee. Paula is a very unstable lady – which is sort of a pity, since Marilyn depends on her for her stability. Paula’s a frustrated actress. She has no self-confidence at all. She pours all her hopes and fears into Marilyn – like a typical Jewish mother, I suppose. That feeds into Marilyn’s insecurity, and Lee takes advantage of it. Lee wants to be a great impresario, and Marilyn is his passport to the fame he thinks he deserves. He’s charging a fortune for Paula to be here. More than anyone else. Much more than me. Why is everybody in the film business a frustrated something or other, who thinks they deserve to be paid thousands of dollars a week?’
‘I don’t think Olivier is that frustrated,’ I said. ‘Except perhaps in bed. And I don’t think he’s that interested in money, either.’
‘No, basically Olivier is one of the good guys. He’s just out of his depth. He doesn’t have any idea what’s going on in Marilyn’s head. He treats her like a silly little blonde, even though he can see in the dailies that she’s really very good – better than he is, I’d say. Olivier is an old-fashioned actor with a great reputation. Marilyn thought that if she acted with him she’d be taken seriously at last. That’s why she wanted to buy the rights to The Sleeping Prince – so she could tempt Olivier with a script she knew he liked. After all, he’d done it onstage, and with his wife. Imagine if little Marilyn could steal a part from the great Vivien Leigh, and maybe seduce Laurence Olivier as well. I must admit I thought she was crazy, but she brought it off – almost.’
‘Poor Marilyn. She must be disappointed. She couldn’t seduce Olivier, so she ended up with me.’
‘You’re making her happy right now, Colin. But, as I said, for how long? Nobody makes Marilyn happy for very long, and that’s the truth.’
At one o’clock Tony came to tell me that lunch was ready, and Milton left. Tony was in a terrible sulk, so it was an uncomfortable meal. I felt sad that I had disobeyed his orders, especially as I was a guest in his home, but I had no regrets. Looking back on it, Saturday had been the happiest day of my life.
MONDAY, 17 SEPTEMBER
Back in the studio on Monday morning, things were even more depressing than usual. Marilyn didn’t show up, and
when I called the house as usual at nine a.m., Roger could tell me nothing. She was still in bed. He didn’t know why. I was sure she had taken too many pills. Milton and Paula were regaining control. They would rather have a beautiful corpse than a free spirit, I said to myself, gnashing my teeth; but there was absolutely nothing I could do. I had served my purpose and been dismissed.
Milton turned up at the studio at eleven o’clock, and went straight into conference with Olivier. He looked grim and tired, and I don’t suppose any conclusion was reached. I was convinced that the crew must be thinking of me as an upstart, someone who had had the cheek to fly too high, and had got his wings burned as a result. But I could not take my mind off what might be going on at Parkside House. Marilyn was certainly dreadfully confused, and probably desperately unhappy. I knew she liked to work, if she could. She wanted to finish the film. What could she be doing all afternoon? That house was like a prison, like an asylum. I should never have let her go back there. By lunchtime, I was really worried.
‘Colin is really worried!’
Dicky Wattis always seemed to know exactly what I was thinking. He is old – at least he seems old to me2 – and thin and very perspicacious. ‘Frankly, my dear, I couldn’t care less if Marilyn Monroe dropped dead,’ he said sniffily. ‘She’s giving the rest of us actors a simply dreadful time, keeping us waiting for hours in these stuffy costumes.’ Dicky had to wear a uniform with gold braid up to his throat. The only things he seemed to like were the white silk stockings and patent leather slippers that went with it. ‘If the film can’t be finished, the insurance company will pay us off and we can all go home.’
‘She’s trying her best, Dicky,’ I said. It was dangerous to show any support for Marilyn on that set, but I couldn’t resist it. Thank goodness, no one seemed to know about our excursion on Saturday. Olivier must have sworn Tony to secrecy, because he had been literally bursting to tell someone last night.
‘It’s all those people around her,’ I went on. ‘Roger tells me she was fine yesterday. They scare her to death, and then she thinks she needs those pills.’
‘She’s Marilyn Monroe, dear,’ said Dicky. ‘That’s her life. Pills, booze, sex, publicity. What a way to carry on. I only wish I could be the same.’
‘Oh, Dicky. How can you say that? She’s really very confused. It’s like the script of this film. She doesn’t have enough love in her life.’
‘Nor do I, dear,’ said Dicky, laughing. ‘Nor do we all. Don’t you worry, Colin. Marilyn will survive. She’s tougher than you think.’
But the life of the studio, which normally made me feel so excited and important, seemed unbearably tedious now. I could hardly wait for the day to end. At five o’clock I rang Roger again, but he made it clear that I was not allowed to come over to Parkside House that night.
‘Sorry, no can do. No visitors allowed. She’s gone into hibernation. Maria’s left two trays of food outside her room, but she hasn’t touched them. Milton and Paula have both had long conversations with her keyhole, but the door stays locked. But she’s in there, all right. I’ve just been up to check, and I think I can hear her snoring.’
‘I’m getting worried, Roger. You said she was so well yesterday. Maybe she’s ill. Maybe she’s dying in there. Shouldn’t you call a doctor?’
‘I’m not in charge, Colin. Milton thinks she’s OK. Evidently she’s done this before, and she doesn’t like her bedroom door being broken down by the fire brigade. Milton says let her sleep, so that’s what I do.’
‘But Roger . . .’
‘Don’t fret, Colin. I’ll go up and check again this evening, I promise.’
Olivier was not at all sympathetic when I went to his dressing room after filming stopped.
‘She’s the stupidest, most self-indulgent little tart I’ve ever come across. What the hell’s she playing at now? Tony says you took her out for the day on Saturday. What went wrong? Why can’t she turn up for work? I don’t want the details. I don’t care if you made love all afternoon. I just want to know one thing: can you get her to come to the studio tomorrow morning? Is she going to finish this film or not?’
‘Marilyn and I had a lovely, innocent day in the country,’ I said. ‘But as soon as we got back, Paula got hold of her and frightened the life out of her, and then Marilyn took those pills. It was her way of re-exerting her control. I suppose Milton and Paula felt I’d threatened their influence. Now they won’t let me near her, or even talk to her. I doubt if she ’ll be in tomorrow, but I can tell you one thing for certain: she is determined to finish the film. She told me so very seriously. In fact that was the only thing she said about her work the whole day. Otherwise she just decided to take a day off . . .’
‘With you,’ said Olivier grumpily.
‘. . . and I happened to be around for her to take it with.’
‘Well, if you should happen to “be around” again, try to persuade her to come to work. She wants to be thought of as a professional actress. She ’ll never be that, of course, but if she turned up at the studio at all it would be a start.’
Dinner with Tony and Anne that evening was even more sombre than before. Olivier had obviously told Tony not to be angry with me, but I’m sure he felt I had let the side down. The trouble was that, as usual, Tony did not really understand what was going on.
When I went upstairs to bed, Roger still hadn’t telephoned, and I didn’t dare call him from the phone in the hall, with Tony glowering at me and Anne listening to every word. I must have finally nodded off, because when I heard the scrunching of tyres on the gravel outside the house, my clock said 1.30. Then I heard Milton’s voice calling from the garden.
‘Colin!’ He was standing on the lawn waving a torch. ‘Colin!’
I opened the window as quietly as I could. Tony was a heavy sleeper, but Anne was not.
‘What ’s the matter?’
‘It ’s Marilyn.’
Life seems more dramatic in the middle of the night.
‘Is she dead?’
‘No, for heaven’s sake, but she ’s not well. She said she wanted to see you right away. Get your clothes on and come down. She may be in a coma.’
There seemed to be a contradiction in there somewhere.
‘What can I do?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Milton, ‘but it’s worth a try. Otherwise I’ll have to call a doctor. Hurry up!’
A doctor! That sounded bad. I pulled on a pair of trousers and a sweater, and crept down to the hall. I didn’t dare to turn on a light, and in my haste I had several near-fatal accidents on the slippery oak stairs. What Tony would say if he caught me I did not even dare imagine. Outside, Milton was waiting in his car with the lights off.
‘Get in,’ he said. ‘There ’s not a moment to lose.’
‘No fear. I’m not being trapped at Parkside again,’ I said. ‘I’ll follow you in my car.’
When we got to Parkside House, there was the same little huddle of people in nightclothes and blankets which I remembered from air-raids in the war. Paula was clucking like a hen, Hedda was wild-eyed, and Roger very grave.
‘I think we should break down the door,’ said Roger, clearly fearing the worst.
‘Not yet, not yet,’ said Milton peevishly. A new door would cost a lot of money, and breaking in on Marilyn might upset her even more. Hovering in the background I could see Maria. She’ll give notice tomorrow morning, I thought, especially if we break down the door.
‘Colin should go up straight away,’ said Paula. ‘After all, she asked for him by name.’
‘That was an hour ago,’ said Roger grimly, ‘and we’ve heard nothing since.’
‘She’s probably just sound asleep,’ I said, ‘and I doubt very much if she wants me to wake her up. But if it’s the only way to get you all back to bed, I suppose I’ll have to try.’
We trooped upstairs onto the landing, into the same corridor where I had first encountered Marilyn sitting on the floor – what a long time ago that seemed –
and up to the bedroom door.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
‘Marilyn? It ’s me. Are you awake?’
Silence.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
‘Marilyn. Wake up!’ The trouble was that I couldn’t think of a reason why she should. ‘It ’s Colin. I’ve come to see if you’re all right.’
Silence.
‘I think we should break it down.’ Poor Roger seemed out of his depth. He was hoping this was ‘a police matter’, so he could take charge.
‘It ’s two in the morning,’ I said. ‘Wouldn’t Marilyn normally be asleep at this hour?’
‘She slept all day,’ said Paula.
What nobody dared say, but everyone thought, was that perhaps Marilyn had taken one too many pills.
‘Let ’s go back down to the hall,’ I said. ‘Please, all of you just wait here until I say so. Roger, come outside with me, and bring a torch.’
They were so tired by this time that they did what they were told.
‘I saw a long ladder in the garage, Roger,’ I said. ‘It’s quite warm tonight, so the bedroom window will probably be open. I’m going to climb up and take a look inside before we do anything drastic.’
We found the ladder, and Roger pointed out which window was Marilyn’s. It was slightly open, as I had guessed.
‘As soon as I’m inside, you take the ladder away – I don’t want Marilyn to know how I got in. She must think that her door wasn’t properly locked, or I’ll be out of a job. As it is I’m taking a terrible risk simply to calm down all those old women.’ (He didn’t seem to realise that that included him.) ‘Then you go back to Marilyn’s bedroom door – alone, please – and wait, in silence, until I open it from the inside. The others have got to wait down in the hall. I won’t let the whole crowd barge in and disturb her. Especially not Milton. He might give her another pill.’
Roger held the ladder while I climbed up, carefully lifted the wide sash window and scrambled in. ‘Go!’ I whispered to him once I was safely inside, and shut the window behind me.