Saving Marlilyn

by Christy Cauley

  Chapter 5 - 12305 Fifth Helena Drive

  Claire found a taxi at the stand on San Vincente Boulevard and told the cabby to take her to the corner of Fifth Helena Drive and South Carmelina Avenue. “Hey, isn’t that near where Marilyn Monroe lives?” he asked her.

  “It’s where my aunt lives; I don’t know anything about any Madeleine Monroe.”

  “It’s Marilyn, ain’t you never heard o’ her? She’s one of the most famous actresses on the planet, lady.” He looked quizzically at her.

  “Sir, could you just take me to my aunt’s house, please, I’m in a hurry?” She tried to cut off the conversation.

  “Yeah, whatever lady, I was just makin’ conversation.” Her job was done. Claire was sitting on the edge of her seat by the time they reached Tenth Helena Drive. She knew there were only a few blocks to go. As they drove down S Carmelina Avenue, Claire’s heart beat fast in anticipation of the destiny that soon waited. The timer had already lost a crucial thirty minutes and she wasn’t about to waste a second more. Finally, they rounded the corner on Fifth Helena Drive. She stepped out of the cab and gave the cabby his money, plus a five-dollar tip. She paid in silver dollars, the only money she could get her hands on that was used back then.

  “Five bucks, wow, would you like me to wait for you, lady?”

  “That won’t be necessary; I’m staying, thank you.” She forgot she was tipping based on current inflation, not 1962’s.

  “Do you need me to come back for you tomorrow?”

  “No, thank you sir, I’m staying indefinitely.” She held her ground, hoping he would go away.

  “O.K. but I’m going to drive up there and see if I can get a glimpse of Marilyn Monroe.”

  Claire started to panic, “You’ll do no such thing, sir. If you drive one foot in that direction I shall have to phone the police about a Peeping Tom.”

  “What?”

  “You heard what I said, good day, Sir!”

  The cabby mumbled, “Crazy dame,” as he turned his vehicle around. Claire stood on the corner watching him drive out of sight. When she was sure he was gone, she headed for the 12300 block and figured it would be all downhill from there. She finally arrived at the third house on the left, 12305 Fifth Helena Drive.

  It was a beautiful, just like the pictures. Claire remembered reading once that Marilyn’s mother, Gladys, had promised her, “I’m, going to build a house for you and me to live in. It’s going to be painted white and have a back yard.” That’s what this hacienda was for Marilyn, she finally had a home.

  As Claire approached the gate she could see the figure of a woman in the garden. She was bending over some flowers with a spade. “Is that the housekeeper?” Claire whispered to herself. Just then she heard a car approaching quickly. She ducked into some bushes at the far end of the wall. A car horn beeped several times and the car came to a stop right in front of the fence. Just then the woman in the garden stood up and turned around. Claire could see clearly now this was not the housekeeper, Eunice Murray, but indeed Marilyn herself. “Marilyn did her own gardening?” Claire giggled to herself, astounded. Marilyn started to walk toward her and Claire ducked between the bush and the wall to hide. Her heart was pounding like she had never heard it before. Thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump. The sound resonated in her ears like a bass drum in a marching band. Her entire body seemed to jerk to the beat.

  Marilyn went to open the gate so the car could enter the driveway. Once the car was in, Claire was able to peek around the corner. A man stepped out of the backseat. He was average height and weight, and wearing a nicely pressed brown suit. Claire heard their conversation. Marilyn greeted him, “Larry, it’s so nice to see you,” in a very sweet sounding voice.

  “Larry? Who the hell is Larry?” Claire was thinking out loud.

  “Marilyn, you’re looking beautiful as ever.” Marilyn smiled and hooked her arm around Larry to guide him into the house.

  Claire could barely hear Marilyn ask, “Did you see me on the cover of Life Magazine?” just as they entered the house. Claire looked around and followed after them to the front stoop. It was a warm day and all of the windows were open. To the right of the front door was a message written in tile. It said “Cursum Perficio.”

  “Cursum Perficio,” Claire paused, reading the tile. Her voice seemed to echo off the stucco walls of Marilyn’s hacienda. She was so startled that she whipped around to be sure no one else was there. Turning back around, Claire lowered her voice, “My Journey Ends Here,” she whispered, in translation. “Well, you got that right,” she said, looking around.

  Claire decided it was probably not a good idea to be seen in front of the building, so she snaked around to the side. As she passed Marilyn’s bedroom, she couldn’t help but sneak a peek inside. All of the windows were open, so she could hear mumbles of a conversation coming from the next room. The bedroom was smaller than Claire expected, and scantily furnished. There was a bed, a dress rack and an ashtray shaped like a swan. “Ew, a fireplace in the bedroom . . . that suits her,” Claire said in awe. She realized anyone driving by could still see her, so she went around to the back, pausing every now and then to peep in a window. Now who’s the peeping Tom, she thought to herself. She went past Marilyn’s dressing room, then the guest room, where someone was sleeping. It appeared to be a woman with dark hair, but Claire could make out nothing else.

  Soon Claire was in the backyard by the pool. The screen doors connecting the back rooms to the patio were all open as well and the living room was once again in sight. She walked up to the window and slowly peered inside. Marilyn and Larry were sitting on a bench at the right wall, cattycorner from the fireplace. They were discussing pictures. “I don’t know, Larry, if I do Playboy again, I’ll be promoted as a sex object. I’ve grown beyond that, you know?” She had a much more serious tone.

  “Marilyn, you’ve been on the cover before and it only helped your career.” Larry glanced in Claire’s direction. She ducked as quickly as she could, her heart pounding once again. She decided it was too dangerous to stay, so she went off to see what else she could do until Larry left. Beside the living room was a sun room complete with a liquor cart and a Mayan tapestry. Claire kept going. The house cornered again; the next stop was the dining room. Claire saw the most beautiful china cabinet she’s ever seen. It was a dark cherry cabinet with glass all around, but it was sparsely populated. The kitchen was the last room on the main house, before the guest house. Claire could hear voices from inside. She stood on her tip toes to look in the window over the sink. She saw a man and a woman talking. The woman she recognized as Eunice Murray, Marilyn’s housekeeper.

  “Are you sure you’re doing that right, son?”

  “Yes mother, I know what I’m doing. It’s floor tile, not brain surgery.” The man was on his knees replacing tiles it appeared. Claire, not being completely convinced of Murray’s innocence in Marilyn’s death, decided to stick around. Murray sat at the table and lit a cigarette while staring over her son’s shoulder. Every now and then there were injections of “That one’s not straight,” or, “Those two are crooked, Norman,” and the reciprocal, “I know what I’m doing, Mom,” from the tile lair.

  Claire finally heard the front door open and went around the side to investigate. She ran around the back of the guest house and garage and peeked around the corner. Larry was getting into his car. He said, “We’ll talk more on Monday, o.k.?” Marilyn nodded her head as she waved good-bye. He pulled away from the driveway and Claire ducked under the protection of the front wall. Marilyn left the driveway gate open and went back inside.

  Claire once again went around to the back of the house to observe. Marilyn was in the living room sitting on the bench and looking at some white folders that appeared to be scripts. Claire saw her opportunity and bolted to the front door, but just as she started to round the side of the house around the dressing room, another car pulled into the driveway. Frustrated, Claire went back around th
e corner to observe.

  A woman in her sixties stepped out of a Buick land tank and walked up to the front porch, then rang the door bell. She was carrying two large black cases. Claire could hear Marilyn shout “I’ve got it, Eunice” as she headed to the front door. When Marilyn opened it she smiled and said, “Oh, hello, Agnes, how are you?”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Monroe” was the polite response from the woman Claire now recognized as Marilyn’s hairdresser. The two headed straight for Marilyn’s bedroom and Claire was once again off to the races. Peering in from a side window, Claire could see Marilyn and Agnes sitting on her bed. Marilyn had her back to Agnes while she set up some styling tools on a dinner tray.

  “I’m going to a dinner party tonight” Marilyn offered.

  “Oh, how wonderful, will anyone interesting be there?” Agnes said, with an accent on the word “interesting.” She had a playful tone in her voice and the two giggled like a couple of school girls.

  Just as Claire was moving in close, yet another vehicle pulled into the driveway and Claire had to retreat to the backyard once again. Peering into the living room from behind the house, Claire could see Eunice accept a package from a delivery boy. It was a stuffed tiger with bright orange stripes with a note wrapped around its neck. Eunice tipped the boy and shuffled off to Marilyn’s bedroom. Claire could not go around to the side of the house because the delivery boy hadn’t left yet. A few moments later, Eunice returned to the kitchen.

  There was no movement in the living room for a while so Claire turned around and sat down on the pool patio. She looked around at the beautiful backyard and the elegant pool, everything was so well kept, she thought. She couldn’t help but reflect on her situation. She floated away in daydream land for a few minutes, but was startled back to reality by voices in the sunroom. Fearing she would be discovered, she headed to the back end of the guest room to hide.

  Marilyn was exchanging pleasantries with Agnes who was apparently getting ready to leave. As Agnes departed, Marilyn stepped out onto the patio by the pool. She seemed depressed and was clutching the toy tiger. She walked behind the living room to a lounge chair and lay out in the sun. She was wearing a plain white one-piece swimsuit and Claire thought it made her look like a goddess. Claire waited anxiously, hoping no one would disturb her. After a while, it appeared no one was going to join Marilyn and Claire decided to make her move.

  Just as she stood up to walk over to her idol, the guest bedroom door to the patio opened. Claire recognized Pat Newcomb, Marilyn’s publicist. She had been the woman Claire saw earlier sleeping in the bed. Frustrated, once again, Claire stayed hidden.

  “Pat, it’s about time you woke up,” Marilyn said curtly. And for the first time, her Marilyn Monroe persona was gone and her voice sounded normal.

  “Wow, it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Pat asked.

  “If I had the convenience to sleep as late as you did, I guess I’d think that too,” Marilyn spat, seemingly angry with Pat.

  “I’m sorry, there’s no alarm clock in there, you know,” Pat said shaking her head.

  “You would think the sunlight would have been a clue.”

  “O.K. Marilyn, you win, I’m sorry I overslept,” Pat said, putting her hands over her head in surrender.

  “Don’t apologize to me. Just because I invite you to spend time with me and you spend it sleeping away, you shouldn’t feel bad at all,” Marilyn said, sarcastically.

  “Alright, if that’s how it is, I’m going to go get some breakfast,” Pat said, exasperated. Then she turned toward the sunroom door.

  “Wouldn’t that be a late lunch at this hour, dear?”

  “Whatever, I’m hungry,” Pat said, not bothering to look over her shoulder at her tormentor.

  “I would be too if I slept that late,” Marilyn hissed. Pat ignored that final comment, apparently resigned to the fact that Marilyn must have the last word or it would never be over, and she went into the house through the sunroom door.

  Marilyn was mumbling and slanted her eyebrows crossly, apparently very upset by Pat’s actions. Claire began to think maybe this wasn’t the right time. She was too late anyway, because Marilyn quickly followed Pat into the sunroom. Claire decided to stay where she was until she could figure out if either woman was near the back windows. A minute later, Marilyn returned to the patio with some of those white folders in her hand. She reclined in her lounge chair and placed all but one script on the table beside her. She seemed calmer than before and was moving her lips while she read.

  “That’s good, read your script, now no one bother her!” Claire declared to herself. She squatted by the bushes for a few more minutes waiting for someone else to show up, but no one did. Claire decided the time had finally come for her to make her move.