My Week with Marilyn (11 page)

‘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.

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 me
²
– 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.

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.