My Week with Marilyn

by Colin Clark

  Like all great beauties, Lady Moore, the owner of the house, had installed blackout curtains an inch thick, and the bedroom was in total darkness. It took quite a bit of fumbling before I found the right cord and let in the moonlight. It took a full minute for my eyes to adjust enough for me to make out the silhouette of the enormous double bed against the far wall. I could also see three doors, although which one concealed Roger, and which went to a bathroom or dressing room, I could not remember.

  ‘Marilyn,’ I whispered. ‘It’s Colin.’ I didn’t want her to wake up and think she was about to be raped by some mad fan (or by me, for that matter).

  ‘Marilyn, it’s me. Wake up.’ I approached the bed, stumbled over something, and sat down heavily on the corner of the mattress.

  Now I could hear steady breathing, which was a huge relief, and I could also smell that wonderful warm, moist scent which beautiful ladies give off when they sleep. I put out a hand and patted the bed. Sure enough, the last pat hit skin. Marilyn seemed to be lying on her tummy across the width of the bed.

  ‘Mmm . . .’ I heard.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s Colin. I just wanted to make sure you’re OK.’

  ‘Hi, Colin. I thought you’d come. Get in.’

  ‘Marilyn, everyone in the house is very worried. You wouldn’t answer your door, and they thought you might be ill.’

  ‘Oh, phooey,’ said Marilyn, with a sleepy chuckle. ‘Get in.’

  ‘Wait,’ I said.

  I got up and went to door number one. It opened, so that wasn’t the one. The next one was the same. The third door was locked tight, but there was no key. ‘Roger,’ I hissed through the keyhole. ‘Are you out there?’

  ‘What ’s going on? Is Miss Monroe all right? Why don’t you open the door?’

  ‘I can’t find the key. Marilyn’s fine. She’s just asleep.’

  ‘How do you know? Maybe she’s passed out. Turn on the light. Better let me in.’

  You must be joking.

  ‘There’s no key,’ I said again. ‘Marilyn woke up long enough to say “Hello.” She ’s absolutely fine. Tell everyone to go to bed and leave her alone. They mustn’t come back until they’re called. I’ll stay in here until morning. I can sleep on the sofa. Marilyn asked me to stay, so I’ll stay. I’m not leaving her at the mercy of that lot in the hall. Now off you go, Roger. See you at breakfast.’

  Roger snorted. He was meant to protect Marilyn, after all.

  ‘Off you go, Roger, and goodnight.’

  By the time I got back to the bed Marilyn was unconscious again, and this time my gentle pat could not rouse her. I sat down on the bed, and suddenly I felt very tired. What on earth was I doing there? I certainly could not take advantage of a sleeping Marilyn Monroe; but half of that huge bed was empty, and my eyelids were beginning to droop. If I could first take a little nap, perhaps I could work out what was best. Slowly, cautiously, I leaned forward onto the satin sheets, and fell absolutely fast asleep.

  ‘Oh! Colin! What are you doing here?’

  I woke slowly, to find myself lying face down on a very soft and sweet-smelling eiderdown quilt which I could not identify. ‘What am I doing where?’ I rolled my head around and stared. Marilyn was hunched up in the far corner of the bed, wrapped in the same pink coverlet which I had seen in the corridor, and lit by a small lamp on the table beside her.

  ‘Colin? It’s the middle of the night, isn’t it? How did you get in here? I thought I locked the door.’

  She didn’t look scared but she did look a bit frantic, and I expect I did too.

  ‘Oh, Miss Monroe,’ I said (frown from Marilyn). I flailed around in the quilt in an effort to sit up on what was a dangerously soft mattress. ‘Oh, Marilyn, I’m so sorry to disturb you. You see, Milton and Paula and Roger were worried that you might be ill. You weren’t answering when they called.’ I couldn’t say that they thought she might have taken too many pills. ‘And they said that they heard you call my name . . .’

  ‘I must have been dreaming, I guess,’ said Marilyn coyly.

  ‘So they came and asked me to help, and I got in through the window,’ I added lamely.

  ‘The window?’ Marilyn looked baffled. ‘The window? Is there a balcony? Hey, it’s like Shakespeare, isn’t it? What’s the name of that play? Romeo and Juliet. How romantic. But I’m not sick. What made them think that?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea, Marilyn. If you ask me, I think they fuss over you far too much. You always seem fine to me.’

  Marilyn gave a little smile and slowly closed her eyes, as if she were waiting for something.

  ‘It’s time for me to leave,’ I thought, but that presented a problem. The only door to the outside world was firmly locked. I couldn’t just slip away, and I did not feel it would be polite to start crashing around looking for the key as if I were trying to escape. How on earth had I got myself into this crazy situation? I was trapped in the bedroom of the most beautiful woman in the world, and there was nothing I could do. I cursed my stupidity in allowing myself to be fooled by all those panicky film people. But Marilyn was not asleep.

  ‘I am fine, Colin, especially when I’m with you. I do see a lot of doctors, though.’ Her voice was dreamy, almost as if she was talking to herself. ‘Mostly sort of psychoanalysts, I guess. They’re always telling me to explore my past.’

  ‘Your past, Marilyn? Did you have a very terrible childhood?’

  Marilyn gazed at the ceiling, and her great big eyes seemed to be unable to focus.

  ‘Not terrible, Colin. Nobody beat me like they did you. It was just that nobody seemed to stay around for long. You know what I mean?’

  ‘I don’t believe in exploring the past too much, Marilyn.’

  The bed seemed too wide for such an intimate conversation. I leaned towards her and came perilously close to doing a somersault. ‘I believe in exploring the future. What is going to happen next? That’s the important thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘You mean between us?’

  ‘Oh, no, Marilyn.’ I leaned back quickly. ‘I didn’t mean . . . I mean . . . I meant . . . in the future.’

  There was another long pause.

  Now Marilyn leaned towards me. ‘Do you love me, Colin?’

  How is it that beautiful women can throw me completely off balance just when I think I am being smooth and wise and completely in control? Every time Marilyn looked me straight in the eyes I seemed to lose my grip on reality. I was certainly at the mercy of a powerful emotion, but was it love? And what sort of love? Love, passion? Love, sex? Love, romance? Love, marriage? I didn’t know what language we were talking.

  ‘Yes, I love you, Marilyn,’ I said desperately, ‘but I love you like I love the wind, or the waves, or the earth under my feet, or the sun coming out from behind a cloud. I wouldn’t know how to love you as a person. If I loved you as a person, then I would want to possess you. But that would be impossible. I could never even dream of possessing you. Perhaps no man can, or should even try. You are like a beautiful force of nature, Marilyn, forever out of reach.’

  ‘But Colin, I don’t want to be out of reach. I want to be touched. I want to be hugged. I want to feel strong arms around me. I want to be loved like an ordinary girl, in an ordinary bed. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong, Marilyn. It’s just not the way things are. You are a goddess to millions and millions of people. Like an ancient Greek goddess, you can come down to earth every now and then, but you always remain out of reach to human men.’

  ‘I’m not Greek,’ said Marilyn, clearly confused.

  ‘Don’t be upset. A goddess is a wonderful, glorious thing to be. It means that you are one of the most special beings in the whole world, and whatever those awful teachers and psychoanalysts say, you have achieved that all by yourself. You should be incredibly proud.’

  Marilyn sighed.

  ‘A whole film crew is dependent on your slightest whim. Great actors and actresses are waiting
for your cue. Thousands of fans all over the world are laughing when you laugh and crying when you cry. Of course it’s a very big responsibility. Of course you feel a tremendous lot of pressure. All goddesses do. But there is nothing that you can do to change what you are.’

  Marilyn giggled, and edged closer across the bed.

  ‘Sometimes I feel like a little child lost in a storm. Where can I hide?’

  ‘You’re not lost in a storm, Marilyn. You are the storm! You must never look for somewhere to hide. A good goddess crashes around making everyone else wonder where they can hide.’

  ‘Oh, Colin, you are funny.’ Marilyn began to smile again at last. ‘But I’m a person, too.’

  ‘Of course you are, Marilyn,’ I said gently. ‘You are a very lovely person. And you’ve got Mr Miller to take care of that very lovely person. Every goddess should have a dashing and handsome god to take care of her and remind her that she is also a woman. Any minute now he will be roaring out of the clouds to claim you, and he won’t be a bit amused to find the court jester in his place. He’ll probably throw a thunderbolt at me.’

  ‘I won’t let him hurt you.’

  I couldn’t help grimacing.

  ‘Yes you will, Marilyn; and you’ll hurt me too. But it will have been worth it.’

  Marilyn sighed again and closed her eyes. Suddenly she looked very tired. I knew very well that I should tiptoe away and leave her to go back to sleep, but I seemed to have lost the use of my legs. I could only sit and gaze at this beautiful creature who seemed so innocent and yet wielded so much power.

  ‘Colin,’ she whispered, ‘I have to tell you something. There is a part of me that is very ugly. Something which comes from being so ambitious, I guess. Something to do with all the things I’ve done – not bad things, but selfish things. I’ve slept with too many men, that’s for sure. And I’ve been unfaithful so often I couldn’t remember. Somehow sex didn’t seem that important when I was a kid. But now I want people to respect me and to be faithful to me, and they never are. I want to find someone to love me – ugliness and beauty and all. But people only see the glamour and fall in love with that, and then when they see the ugly side they run away. That’s what Arthur has done now. Before he left for Paris he wrote a note saying that he was disappointed in me. I saw it on his desk. I think he meant for me to see it. And then you came along and we had such fun and now I’m all confused. Why is life so complicated, Colin? Arthur says I don’t think enough, but it seems I’m only happy when I don’t think.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I’m not going to say “Poor Marilyn.” You have talents and advantages most people only dream about. You just don’t have anyone to help you use them properly. Like all ambitious people, you need to grow all the time – grow as an actress, and grow as a person too. And growing is painful, no doubt about it. Growing pains, they are called. But you don’t want to stand still. You can’t bear to sit back and think, “I’m Marilyn Monroe, and it’s enough to go from one brainless Hollywood movie to the next.” If you could do that, you wouldn’t be here now. You wouldn’t have married a famous writer, or read The Brothers Karamazov, or agreed to act with Laurence Olivier. You’d be driving a pink Cadillac in Beverly Hills, and having lunch with your agent every day, and counting the money in the bank.’

  Marilyn opened her eyes. ‘What makes me always want more, Colin? Do you think I’m being too greedy? Perhaps it’s because when I was young I never had enough.’ She sighed again.

  ‘I never really knew my mom and dad. I was brought up in other people’s homes mostly, but I did have a sort of auntie called Grace, who took care of me sometimes, and she was always telling me that I could be a great actress. “Norma Jean,” she’d say, “one day you are going to be as famous as Jean Harlow,” and she’d take me to the beauty parlour and get them to do my hair real nice. And she worked in movies too, so I always believed her.

  ‘At one of the schools I went to, the other kids all called me “the mouse”, ’cos I was so dowdy. My hair was brown then, too. I still feel like a mouse sometimes, running around in a film star’s body. But then my bosom began to grow and I dyed my hair blonde. Some guy took my picture, and all the boys began to make a big fuss and try to make out with me. I didn’t know any better, I guess. I used to have a lot of terrible pain every month – I still do – and I thought it was God punishing me for knowing about sex so young.

  ‘I got married when I was sixteen. Poor Jimmie. He didn’t really want to get married at all. He did it for a favour. Otherwise I would have had to go back to the orphanage. Grace couldn’t take care of me any longer, you see. And I didn’t know who I really was yet. I thought if I got married I’d be someone. I’d look after my husband and my house and I’d be someone.

  ‘But it didn’t work out like that at all. After a few months, Jim hardly came home at night, and when he did we had nothing to talk about. Then he went off to the war and I began to work as a model. Most marriages seem to break up in the end, don’t they, Colin? Mine just fell apart. And I was unfaithful pretty often, I guess. Somehow it seemed natural to sleep with the photographer. I always did. Like giving them a reward for taking beautiful pictures. But modelling was fun. It was putting on an act. I always tried my very best, and I did good. When Jimmie came back he couldn’t stand it. We got a divorce in Las Vegas about the same time as my first movie test. That was great. I just loved going in front of the movie cameras. Somehow it felt just right. But, boy, what a lot of men there are in the film business – and they all think you’ve got to sleep with them.’

  ‘And did you, Marilyn?’

  ‘Quite a lot. Too many. I didn’t feel bad at the time. I was only a dumb kid. But I feel bad now. I feel guilty now.’

  ‘I understand, Marilyn. But you mustn’t feel guilty for the past. Everyone understands what it’s like. I’m sure Arthur understands.’

  ‘Joe didn’t understand. He didn’t like it at all. He married me, but I don’t think he ever forgave me for what I did before I met him. That’s not fair, is it?’

  ‘Joe DiMaggio, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah. He was great in so many ways. So strong. So sure of himself. I really tried to be a good wife to him, but by that time my work was starting to get better than his, and he had been so famous and all, and he couldn’t stand that either. He got so jealous of everything. I guess I couldn’t just change in the way he wanted me to. Then Arthur came along, and he was different. Arthur was always different from all the rest. Why, he wouldn’t even sleep with me on the first date. He treated me like I was a real person. He was so wise. He didn’t speak much – well, nor did Joe – but somehow you knew how smart he was just from looking at him. And he was so sexy. I really fell in love with Arthur, and I still am. But now I feel I’ve let him down. I must have, or he wouldn’t have run away, would he Colin?’

  ‘You and Arthur are hardly the typical honeymoon couple, you know,’ I said. ‘You are under incredible pressure to give a great performance in a very difficult film. You have to put all your efforts into your work, whether you like it or not. You’ve got Milton and Paula pestering you morning, noon and night. I don’t expect Arthur had any idea what you would both have to go through. Right now he’s running away from the whole bloody showbiz circus, not from you.’

  Marilyn was looking so miserable that I couldn’t resist stretching out my hand and holding hers. She didn’t seem to notice for a moment, and then, suddenly, she gripped it with all her strength.

  ‘Do you think so, Colin? Do you really think so?’

  ‘Of course I do. In fact, I know that’s what it is. He told Olivier that the pressure this film created was driving him crazy. He didn’t say that you were driving him crazy.’

  ‘But I saw the note on his desk. It said I wasn’t the angel he’d thought I was. It made out that he was disappointed in me.’

  ‘If Arthur really thought he was marrying an angel, he must have been nuts. Did he want a fantasy, or did he want a real person? He k
new that you were the most famous film star in the world. Did he think you’d gone straight to where you were from heaven? Of course not. As you say, Arthur is a writer. Those notes he writes are just an author scribbling down random thoughts as they come to him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He understands you. He’s proud of you. He adores you. It’s just that he had no idea – no one has any idea – how much work is involved in making a film like this.’

  Marilyn’s voice was only just above a whisper. ‘You don’t think he’s going to leave me, then? You think he’ll come back?’

  ‘I’m sure of it. And now it’s time I left and you went back to sleep.’

  ‘Oh, don’t go away, Colin. I can’t stand it if you go too.’

  Marilyn opened up her swimming-pool eyes again and held onto my hand as if her life depended on it.

  ‘Please stay, Colin.’

  ‘All right, I’ll stay. On one condition – that you come into the studio on time tomorrow morning. That will surprise everybody. That will show them all what you’re made of. That will show them that you are a great, great star. That when things look bad you can rise above it and give the performance of your life.’

  ‘Oh, Colin. You make it all sound fun.’

  ‘Will you do it, Marilyn? Just once? Not for me – for yourself. We won’t warn Paula or Milton or anyone. We’ll just go. I’ll set the alarm for seven o’clock. That gives us another four hours of sleep.’

  Marilyn giggled. ‘Four hours! Aren’t we going to make love, Colin? Will that give us enough time?’

  ‘Oh, Marilyn, you are a naughty girl,’ I said sternly. ‘We are not going to make love, OK? It’s bad enough me being here. You’ve got to be able to tell your husband that we didn’t even think about sex – that it never even crossed your mind. You’ve got to be able to say that with your hand on your heart. Otherwise he jolly well will leave you forever. And you don’t want that.’

  Marilyn sighed. ‘I guess so,’ she said.

  I gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Just out of interest, though, would you have liked to make love?’